BETWEEN
SILK AND
CYANIDE
A CODEMAKER^ WAR
1941-1945
LEO MARKS
THFBBFFPEFSS
ff
THE FREE PRESS
A Division of Simon & Schuster Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Copyright © 1998 by Leo Marks
All rights reserved,
including the right of reproduction
in whole or in part in any form.
Originally published in Great Britain in 1998 by HarperCollins Publishers
Published by arrangement with HarperCollins Publishers
THE FREE PRESS and colophon are trademarks
of Simon & Schuster Inc.
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Marks, Leo.
Between silk and cyanide : a codemaker's war, 1941--1945 / Leo Marks.
p. cm.
Includes index.
I.Marks, Leo. 2. World War, 1939-1945--Cryptography. 3. World
War, 1939-1945--Secret service--Great Britain. 4. World War,
1939-1945--Personal narratives, British. 5. Cryptographers--Great
Britain--Biography. I. Title.
D810.C88M375 1999 99-17581 CIP
940.54'8641--dc21
ISBN 0684864223
Contents
List of Illustrations
1	A Hard Man to Place
2	The Pilot Light
3	A Collector's Item
4	'Merde A/ors!'
5	All Things Bright and Beautiful
6	The Fifth Grouse
7	SOE-minded
8	The Plumber and His Mate
9	The Godfather
10	The Sixth Sense
11	The High-Pitched Bleep
12	A Shock Discovery
13	The Biter Bitten
14	The Last-Chance Month
15	The Bolt Hole
16	A Question of Y
17	Arquebus, Gunnerside and Golf
18	The Coding Cabaret
19	Summit Meeting
20	The Findings of the Court
21	Repercussions
22	The Launching of Plan Giskes
23	Special Devices
24	Judgement Day
25	Permission to Proceed?
26	Court Martial
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE "^^^111
CONTENTS

27
Criminal Negligence
230 ; B .4
Misgivings
485
28
Green Ink
237 ;165
'The Life that I Have'
492
29
Best Read at Night
242
^1 66
April Fool's Day
499
30
The War Dance
245
^B'67
The New Boys
502
31
Accidents Will Happen
254
^K 6S
Inexcusable
510
32
Pilgrim's Progress
260
^1 69
For Your Ears Only
517
33
The 'Hard Men'
267
1 ~°
Neptune's Trident
521
34
Judicial Review
274
"'
Staying Power
526
35
The Masterstroke
279
^K "2
'They Also Serve ...'
534
36
Desperate Measures
286
^B -
Self-Defence
539
37
Punitive Expedition
291 -^K74
Taken for Granted
546
38
The Secret Weapon
299
^K 75
The Day of Reckoning
554
39
Appointment with Royalty
307
^76
Pockets of Resistance
560
40
The Extended Briefing
315
^H 77
Operation Periwig
566
41
Operation Gift-horse
322
^B -s
Serial Number 47685
578
42
A Terrible Gaffe
326
-u
For Services Rendered
581
43
Operation Sidetrack
335
^^R 80
Exemplary Conduct
588
44
Beyond Belief
342
^^B s1
The Last Mischief
595
45
Parallel Action
350

Epilogue
599
46
The Club Rules
355

Appendix
601
47
Lake Como's Bottom
358

Index
607
48
T Hereby Bequeath . . .'
363



49
A Treat for the Natives
367



50
Homecoming
379



51
Stranglehold
383



52
Man with a Mission
390



53
Breaking Point
397
^^^B


54
Who Stole Your Grace?
405



55
The Forty-Eight Mistakes
417



56
Unique in SOE
424
^^^^^^^^H^


57
The Major Development
430



58
If I Should Die, Etcetera'
433



59
The Invisible Presence
449



60
Fumigated
455



61
A Mere Squadron Leader
463



62
Without Precedent
471



63
Open Arrest
479 ^^R



List of Illustrations
Between pages 302 and 303
The author at his most mature.
A WT operator disguised as a cow.
A portable WT set.
Some of SOE's silks.
Portraits of Colonel Buckmaster and Vera Atkins, and a sketch of
Violette Szabo, all by Elena Gaussen Marks.
Noor Inayat Khan.
Tommy, code-named the 'White Rabbit', 1944.
The author photographed at the Cannes Film Festival by Michael
Powell, director of Peeping Tom.
An article from the Daily Telegraph's Peterborough column, March
1995.
The author and his wife at a Special Forces Reunion dinner, 1982.
Ebenezer, painted by Elena Gaussen Marks, March 1995.
Comparing notes with Ebenezer in Holland, March 1995.
The famous book shop at 84 Charing Cross Road, where the author
broke his first code.
Helen Hanff's 84 Charing Cross Road by Elena Gaussen Marks.
hi December 1943 I wrote a poem which I gave to Violette Szabo to
use as a code.
This book is dedicated to all those who have shared it with her.
The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
| For the peace of my years
\ In the long green grass
; Will be yours and yours and yours.
ONE
A Hard Man to Place
In January 1942 I was escorted to the war by my parents in case I
couldn't find it or met with an accident on the way. In one hand I
clutched my railway warrant - the first prize I had ever won; in the
other I held a carefully wrapped black-market chicken. My mother,
who had begun to take God seriously the day I was called up, strode
protectively beside me - praying that the train would never arrive,
cursing the Fiihrer when she saw that it had and blessing the porter
who found me a seat. Mother would have taken my place if she
could, and might have shortened the war if she had.
My father, who was scarcely larger than the suitcases he insisted on carrying, was an antiquarian bookseller whose reading was confined
to the spines of books and the contents of the Freemason's
Chronicle. His shop was called Marks & Co. and its address was 84
Charing Cross Road. He never read the gentle little myth by Helene
Hanff;* long before it was published he'd become one himself.
My parents accompanied their only joint venture to the door of the train and, for the first time in twenty years, prepared to relinquish him. Mother's farewell to her only child was the public's first glimpse of open-heart surgery. Late-comers were offered a second. As I
entered the carriage clutching my chicken and bowler hat, she called out at the top of her voice - if it had one - 'look after my boy.'
The captain in the seat opposite me accepted the brief. To distract me from the spectacle of Mother comforting Father and the station
master comforting them both, he silently proffered his cigarette case.
I indicated my virgin pipe.
84 Charing Cross Road (Andre Deutsch, 1971).
BETWEEN SILK AND CYAMIDE
'Going far, old son?'
My security-minded nod convinced him, if Mother's performance
hadn't already, that I was being dispatched to some distant outpost
of what remained of Empire. I was, in fact, going all the way to
Bedford.
I had been accepted as a pupil at a school for cryptographers. Gaining
admission hadn't been easy; I'd written to the War Office, the
Foreign Office and the Admiralty, enclosing specimens of my homemade
codes with a curriculum vitae based loosely on fact, but no
more loosely than their formal replies stating that my letters were
receiving attention. Since codes meant as much to me as Spitfires
did to those who had guts, I resolved to make one last try and
suddenly remembered that I had a godfather named Major Jack
Dermot O'Reilly who worked in the Special Branch at Scotland Yard.
I also remembered that Major Jack (like Father) was a Freemason,
a branch of the Spiritual Secret Service for which I was still too
young.
Arriving at the Special Branch unannounced, I called upon Major
Jack carrying my codes in my gas-mask case, which he clearly
considered was the most appropriate place for them. However, he
must have put his 'Brother' before his country because a few
prayers later I was invited by the War Office to attend an interview
at Bedford 'to discuss my suitability for certain work of national
importance'.
My audition took place at a large private house which tried to
ramble but hadn't the vitality. A friendly sergeant told me the CO
was expecting me - and I had my first meeting with Major Masters,
the headmaster of the code-breaking school. He began the interview
by asking what my hobbies were.
'Incunabula and intercourse, sir.'
It slipped out and wasn't even accurate; I'd had little experience
of one and couldn't afford the other. I suspected that he wasn't sure
what incunabula was and added: 'And chess too, sir - when there's
time,' which proved a better gambit.
I answered the rest of his questions honestly -- with one exception.
He asked me how I first became interested in codes. There is only
A HARD MAN TO PLACE
one person to whom I've ever told the truth about this and we hadn't
yet met. The reply I concocted didn't impress him. I didn't think
much else had either.
Three weeks later I received his letter of acceptance.
The school for code-breakers was the only one of its kind in England
and its founding father, patron saint and principal customer was
Britain's cryptographic supremo, John Tiltman. According to
O'Reilly, Tiltman's talent had already received the ultimate Intelligence
accolade: it had made him a bargaining counter with the
Americans.
The course was due to last for eight weeks, at the end of which the students would be graded and sent to Bletchley Park, which was
Tiltman's workshop and the headquarters of the cryptographic
department, known in the trade as MIS.
Fifteen new pupils, including two young women, had been selected for the course and we sat at separate desks in a large, bright room,
studying the mating habits of the alphabet, counting the frequency of letters and working our way through exercises which gradually became more difficult until we were ready to tackle codes of military
and diplomatic level.
For a short while the whole class seemed to be moving in orderly
mental convoy towards the promised land of Bletchley. But amongst
those potential problem-masters there was one confirmed problempupil.
I knew that if I didn't break behaviour patterns as well as
codes, I would be lucky to last the term - a prospect which made me
keep peace with my teachers for a personal best of about a week.
e) The regression started when I felt a code of my own simmering inside
me. This unwanted pregnancy was accompanied by morning sickness which took the form of questioning the quality of the exercises which
Were supposed to extend us. I was convinced that the school's
methods of teaching would be better suited to a crash course in
accountancy. The decline was irreversible when I tried to find quicker
I Ways of breaking codes than the ones prescribed for us, and began
J to chase cryptographic mirages of my own making. Having somehow
j absorbed a few tricks of the trade, I spent hours trying to devise
codes which would be proof against them. Although possibly not
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
when Sir Simon offered him a cash bonus for every unwrapped orange
he found in a Marks & Spencer store. I imparted these 'hot' family
titbits to the enthralled personnel officer, and before he could enquire
where Leo House was I assured him that I would nudge Sir Simon
in the right direction the next time we dined together. A few days
after this solemn undertaking 'Uncle Simon' volunteered the canteen
facilities, which did no harm at all to my SOE scorecard. Marks &
Spencer's greatest asset always was its timing.
I was also interviewed, skilfully and inscrutably, by Captain Clansey,
the head of Codes, who indicated that he would think me over.
A week later I signed the Official Secrets Act and was told to report
to Dansey at nine in the morning.
On that last day of my innocence the personnel officer beamingly
confirmed that I was to receive the equivalent of a second lieutenant's
pay and then added, as tactfully as he was able, that my employment
would be subject to review at the end of the month.
He was wrong again.
It was to be subject to review at the end of one day.
SOE's code department and teleprinter rooms occupied the whole of
a mews building at the back of Michael House and I had my first
glimpse of the wonders of Danseyland when an armed escort took
me on an intensive route march to the captain's office, where I was
handed over like a parcel of dubious content in exchange for an
official receipt. This was standard SOE procedure for those who had
yet to be issued with passes.
The sharp-eyed captain and his jovial deputy. Lieutenant Owen,
explained that SOE's main function was dropping agents into Europe,
and that my job would be to 'keep an eye on the security of their
codes'. They then decided to test their new boy's ability. I was handed
a message in code, put into an adjacent room and left there to break
it. I knew from the little they had said about the code that it was one
of the first Bedford had taught us to crack. If I risked no short cuts
I should reach the code's jugular by the end of the day.
Dansey came in half an hour later to see if I'd finished but I was
still taking a frequency count (this is the cryptographic equivalent of
feeling a pulse). He looked at me with a hint of disappointment A HARD MAN TO PLACE
then smiled encouragingly and went out. It was then ten o'clock.
An hour later he was back again. The code's pulse was regular.
Dansey's wasn't. 'Marks,' he said softly.
'Sir?'
'Do you know how long it took my girls to crack that code? .. . twenty minutes.'
'Sir, it takes me thirty just to clean my glasses.'
I hoped he was joking. He closed the door behind him and I knew
that he wasn't.
At one o'clock Lieutenant Owen put his head round the door,
watched the poor struggler as long as he could bear to, and said I
was free to go to lunch if I wished. I didn't.
At four o'clock a bespectacled young lady put some tea on my desk. She departed hastily with each eye laughing at a different joke.
At a quarter to five I knocked on the door of Dansey's office and
; put the decoded message in front of him.
; Dansey and Owen sat in silence. They were in mourning for their
judgement. I knew I had failed and hoped it wouldn't prevent them from giving someone competent a chance. I thanked my ex-bosses for my tea and turned to go. '',: 'Leave the code here, please.'
'What code, sir?'
Dansey closed his eyes but they continued glaring. 'The code you broke it with!'
'You didn't give me one, sir.'
: 'What the hell are you talking about? How did you decode that t message if I didn't give you one?'
'You told me to break it, sir.'
'.. He was one of the few people who could look efficient with his tnouth open. 'You mean you broke it,' he said, as if referring to his I heart, 'without a code?'
I. I had always understood that was what breaking a code meant, but ;tfus was no time for semantics. 'How was I expected to do it, sir?'
t< 'The way the girls do, with all the bumph in front of them. A Straightforward job of decoding, that's all I was after! So we could test your speed. And compare it with theirs.'
k 'You mean, sir - that SOE is actually using this code?'
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'We were,' said Owen. 'We have others now.'
They looked at each other. Something seemed to occur to them
simultaneously. They operated like two ends of a teleprinter.
'Come with us. Marks.'
The three of us crowded into my workroom, which by now
resembled an indoor tobacco plantation. Dansey didn't smoke. After
a few moments of intensive rummaging he lifted a pyramid of papers
and pointed to a blue card with a code typed on it in capital letters.
He smiled as he held it up. His efficiency was vindicated.
I walked up to him till I was level with the pips on his shoulder. I
had a request to make and, for the first time in far too long, it wasn't
wholly self-interested. 'May I see those other codes, sir?'
The Baker Street code room, which Dansey and Owen ran with an
efficiency and precision 'Uncle Simon' would have envied, was essentially
a main-line code room. Its function was to communicate with
embassies and base stations around the world using code-books and
one-time pads which provided the highest possible level of security
and were cryptographically unbreakable even by Tiltman. It was the
luxury end of the business.
The agents in the field had to use their codes in conditions of
difficulty and danger which were unique in the history of coding.
Their traffic was handled in that main-line code room by anyone
available to do it. The volume of main-line traffic allowed no specialization.
Each girl had to be a multi-purpose coder, able in theory to
switch from main-line traffic to agents' at a moment's notice, though
the system called for very different aptitudes, attitudes and disciplines.
The responsibility for both main-line and agents' codes was vested
in Dansey and Owen. Each of them had an asset which was rare in
SOE - the ability to know what he was best at doing. They had
repeatedly tried to persuade SOE that agents' traffic needed a cryptographer
to supervise it - and permission had finally been given to
add one to the staff. His brief, as SOE conceived it, was a simple
one. All he would be required to do was 'keep an eye on the security of
agents' traffic' - and perhaps break one or two of the indecipherable
messages which poured in from the field.
The agents were using poems for their codes. Or famous quotaA HARD MAN TO PLACE
tions. Or anything they could easily remember. This concept of clandestine
coding had been adopted by SOE because of a theory,
traditional in Intelligence, that if an agent were caught and searched
it was better security if his code were in his head. I had a gut feeling
right from the start that this theory was wrong, and hoped that
whoever advised SOE that the poem-code was suitable for agents
would try performing its paper-gymnastics in the field.
The slightest mistake in the coding, a second's lapse of concentration,
would render the entire message indecipherable. Frequently
as much as 20 per cent of SOE's traffic could not be decoded due to
agents' errors.
Whenever SOE received an indecipherable the agent responsible
was instructed to re-encode it and have it ready for his next transmission.

I was prepared to fight this malpractice by whatever means I could.
If some shit-scared wireless operator, surrounded by directionfinding
cars which were after him like sniffer dogs, who lacked electric
light to code by or squared paper to code on - if that agent hadn't
the right to make mistakes in his coding without being ordered to
do the whole job again at the risk of his life, then we hadn't the right
to call ourselves a coding department.
Surely the answer was simple? Squads of girls must be specially
trained to break agents' indecipherables. Records must be kept of the
mistakes agents made in training - they might be repeating them in
the field. SOE would need more coders - and would have to compete
for them in the far from open market. There must be no such thing
as an agent's indecipherable.
Dansey didn't disagree with any of this. He simply pointed out a
major obstacle of which I knew nothing. The name of that obstacle
was Chain of Command.
All SOE's communications were under the control of the Signals
directorate. Since these communications were worldwide, this empirebuilder's
paradise embraced main-line and agents' codes, all wireless
stations, all wireless training schools, all wireless equipment - and one or two research establishments which no one had found time to
visit.
The head of the Signals conglomerate. Colonel Ozanne, was a
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
problem to which no solution compatible with law was remotely in
sight. A one-man obstacle course, the colonel was opposed to any
kind of change except in his rank. He elected to concentrate on
main-line communications whilst taking an 'overall view' of everything
else, though he often had difficulty in focusing his viewfinder,
especially after lunch. His second in command. Colonel George Pollock,
controlled the wireless stations, the training schools and agents'
communications generally. This hierarchical structure put Dansey in
the delicate position of being answerable to Ozanne for mainline
codes and to Pollock for agents'.
Pollock's peacetime occupation posed problems of a special kind.
He was a highly successful barrister who'd been well on his way to
becoming a judge, and he used the Signals directorate as an extension
of his chambers. All Dansey's requests were subjected to litigation
and the verdict invariably went against him. Though Dansey never
hesitated to stand up and be frequency-counted, he was in every
respect outranked. The colonel disliked the untidy conveyancing
which placed Dansey under his command but not under his control
and had made several attempts to take agents' codes away from him,
the last of which had almost succeeded.
Dansey warned me that I must do nothing which would give him
an excuse to try again. Tn fact,' he said, 'you must go very carefully
until your appointment is confirmed. And, after that, old boy - you
must go more carefully still.'
I managed to comply for two whole weeks.
Even SOE knew that for security reasons all messages to and from
the field had to be at least 200 letters long - one more dangerous
disadvantage of the poem-code. The country section officers who
originated messages had acquired the appalling habit of sending the
same text to as many as a dozen different agents with only marginal
changes of phrasing.
The poem-code simply couldn't stand up to these mass-produced
texts. If the enemy broke one agent's messages they would know
what to look for in their other intercepts - it would be an ana- grammer's delight.
I made my first contact with Buckmaster of the French section,
10
A HARD MAN TO PLACE
Hardy Amies of the Belgian, Hollingsworth of the Danish, Blizzard
of the Dutch, Wilson of the Norwegian and Piquet-Wicks of another
French section, though I wasn't yet sure why there had to be two. I
asked them to paraphrase their messages and free their language
whenever possible, and mistook their acquiescence for securitymindedness
instead of the quickest way to get me off the telephone.
The next time I held out the begging-bowl on behalf of the infirm
poem-code was for a very different ailment, and the remedy was even
less to their liking.
To encode a message an agent had to choose five words at random
from his poem and give each letter of these words a number. He then
used these numbers to jumble and juxtapose his clear text. To let his
Home Station know which five words he had chosen, he inserted an
indicator-group at the beginning of his message. But if one message
was broken - just one - the enemy cryptographers could mathematically
reconstruct those five words and would at once try to identify
their source.
Amongst SOE's best-sellers were Shakespeare, Keats, Tennyson,
Moliere, Racine, Rabelais, Poe and the Bible.
One agent had been allowed to use the National Anthem, the only
verses which he claimed to remember: suppose the enemy broke one
of his messages and the five words he'd encoded it on were 'our',
'gracious', 'him', 'victorious', 'send', then God save the agent. They
could sing the rest of the code themselves and read all his future
traffic without breaking another message.
Even works less familiar to the Germans than the National Anthem
- the Lord's Prayer perhaps - would cause them no problems. Reference
books are jackboots when used by cryptographers. But if our
future poem-codes were original compositions written by members
of SOE, no reference books would be of the slightest help in tracing
them. Not even Marks & Co.'s.
It would make it slightly more difficult for SOE's messages to be
read like daily newspapers if we started a Baker Street poets' corner.
I hadn't thought that writing poetry would be my contribution to
Hitler's downfall, but it would at least prevent the Germans from
using our traffic for their higher education. Striding up and down the
corridors like the Poet Laureate of Signals, I did what I could to make
11
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
my poems easy to memorize, less easy to anticipate, but I was obliged
to turn to the country sections for help with their respective languages.
I again telephoned Messrs Buckmaster, Amies, Hollingsworth, Blizzard,
Wilson and Piquet-Wicks and asked if they would kindly write
some poetry for me in their respective languages.
Rumour began to spread that there was an outbreak of insanity in
the Signals directorate.
It was well founded. Agents were making so many mistakes in their
coding that breaking their indecipherables single-handed against the
clock was like being the only doctor in a hospital full of terminal
patients. And the biggest indecipherable of all was SOE itself.
Formal acceptance into the organization had brought me no closer
to understanding it. All it had produced was a pass of my own which
I could rarely find, and a desk in Owen's office which I rarely left.
Although the code room was only a few yards away, I seldom visited
it as main-line codes were none of my business. All maimed agents'
messages were brought in to me as the girls had neither the time nor
the training to mend the fractures.
The prospect of ever being able to form a code-breaking team
seemed even more remote when Dansey's foreboding hardened into
fact. Ozanne transferred all agents' traffic to the wireless station at
Grendon Underwood. The coding was to be done by groups of
FANYs (First Aid Nursing Yeomanry). The takeover was to be in
August, only a few weeks away. Dansey would still be in charge of
agents' codes - but this could be changed at the flick of a mood-swing.
He warned me not to visit Station 53 without the approval of the
Gauleiter of Signals.
While grim power-struggles were raging throughout every directorate
in SOE, I was engaged in a still grimmer one with Edgar Allan
Poe.
He was the favourite author of an officer on Buckmaster's staff
named Nick Bodington, who went backwards and forwards to France
as if he had a private ferry. For this trip's traffic he'd chosen an
extract from 'The Raven'. Bodington's message was indecipherable
and I'd been impaled on the bloody bird's beak for six consecutive
hours.
12
A HARD MAN TO PLACE
The passage Bodington had chosen was:
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping on my chamber door . . .
If the indicator-group were correct, the five words he'd encoded the
message on were: 'came', 'chamber', 'my', 'rapping', 'door'. When I
tried decoding it on these five, all that emerged was the Raven's
cackle.
Some 3,000 attempts later I discovered that the indicator was correct
and the coding perfect. All Bodington had done was omit a 'p' from
'rapping', which turned it into 'raping' and screwed the lot of us.
The worst part of these indecipherables was the time element. If
an agent had a schedule for six o'clock, his message would have to
be broken by then or his section head would insist that he repeated
it. I didn't always manage to beat the clock, but only once gave up
trying.
I had been working for two days on an indecipherable from Norway
contributed by an agent called Einar Skinnarland. There was
something very peculiar about Skinnarland's traffic. He gave some
of his messages to a wireless operator to be transmitted in the normal
way (SOE was blase enough to regard wireless traffic as normal) but,
for reasons which the Norwegian section refused to divulge, at
any rate to me, most of his traffic was smuggled into Sweden by
courier and re-routed to London by cable or diplomatic bag. He
had already sent one indecipherable, and the usually imperturbable
Wilson had stressed to me that he must know its contents within the
hour. An hour in coding terms is only a paranoid minute. I needed
to know what was so special about Skinnarland's traffic - but Wilson
rang off abruptly to take another call.
That first indecipherable of Skinnarland's had been a warming-up
present from him to me and had proved no more troublesome than
an undone shoelace. Wilson expected the new one to be cracked as
easily. But Skinnarland had had the better of our two-day duel, and
five minutes before his operator's schedule I just had to get away
from the thousands of failed attempts which littered my desk. I
strolled upstairs to the teleprinter room to listen to the healthy chatter
13
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
of Dansey's main-line codes. Suddenly I knew what Skinnarland had
done and saw that, if I took a short cut and drew together several
columns of his message, I would get the word 'sentries' in one line
with the word 'Vermok' immediately beneath it. Taking an even
shorter cut to the code room by falling down the stairs, I contacted
Station 53 on the direct line.
The operator was still on the air, about to be asked to repeat the
message. I told the signalmaster to cancel the instruction and send
the Morse equivalent of 'Piss off fast.'
Breaking that indecipherable to the applause of my public meant
far more to me at the time than that factory in remotest Vermok
which Skinnarland had described in minutest detail. The rest of SOE
remained equally remote.
The most distinguished visitors to our mews stronghold were the
night duty officers who collected the confidential waste and the ladies
who pushed around the teatrolley twice a day like sisters of mercy.
But one afternoon I was struggling with yet another indecipherable
from Skinnarland, who was rapidly becoming my least favourite
agent, when I heard an uncommonly authoritative, disconcertingly
purposeful barrage of footsteps coming our way. A moment later an
RAF officer strode into the room and commandeered it without a
word being spoken. I had never seen anger of such quality and substance,
power and purpose as this man projected. It should have been
weighed by the pound and sold as an example.
I forgot about Skinnarland as he advanced on my startled superior,
making no attempt to conceal his repugnance at a pink slip (an
internal message to Station 53) which was clutched in his outstretched
hand.
'Who's responsible for sending this?'
'He is.'
The flight lieutenant transferred his attention to me, and his first
question set the tone of our encounter: 'Who the devil are you?'
Every officer in SOE was allocated a symbol for use in correspondence;
Dansey's was DYC, Owen's DYC/0. At last I had a chance
to use mine. 'DYC/M,' I said, quoting it with relish.
'Tony had a sked at nine tonight. You've bloody cancelled it.!
Why?'
14
Tony was an agent stranded in France with the Gestapo searching
for him. A Lysander was standing by to pick him up, but his message
giving map references had been indecipherable. He was due to repeat
it.
'I cancelled it,' I said, 'because an hour ago we broke it after three
thousand, one hundred and fifty-four attempts.'
Skinnarland's indecipherable whispered something to me in its
coding sleep.
'How did you break it?'
A word was forming which could be 'mountain'.
'HOW DID YOU BREAK IT?'
It was 'mountain'.
'By guess and by God,' I said without looking up.
'Really, DYC/M? And which were you?'
'Barren mountain' - I hoped it would make sense to Wilson.
'Flight Lieutenant, if you come back in a year's time I may have
finished this bugger, and I'll be glad to answer all your questions.'
'Very well, DYC/M. I'll look in again the Christmas after next, if
you haven't won the war by then.'
He closed the hangar door behind him. I could still feel him looking
at me.
'Who was that sod?'
'Didn't you know? That's Yeo-Thomas. Our Tommy! . . . he's quite
a character.'
I didn't realize it at the time but 'quite a character' was even more
of an understatement than 84's tax returns.
15
TWO
The Pilot Light
SOE's security checks were so insecure that I thought the real ones
were being withheld from me. Their function was to tell us whether
an agent was coding under duress. To convey this to us without the
enemy being aware of it, he was required to insert various dummy
letters in the body of each message - and their absence or alteration
in any way was supposed to alert us immediately to his capture. As an
additional 'precaution' he was instructed to make deliberate spelling
mistakes at prearranged spots. The whole concept had all the validity
of a child's excuses for staying up late, with none of the imagination.
It took no account of the possibility of an agent's code being broken or tortured out of him, when the Gestapo would be in a position to
work out the security checks for themselves. Nor did it make any
allowances for Morse mutilation, which frequently garbled so much
of the text that it was impossible to tell whether the security checks
- for what little they were worth - were present,
I had already been puzzled by the traffic of a Dutch agent named
Abor who'd been dropped into Holland in March. He'd sent a string
of properly encoded messages - yet all of them were marked security
checks omitted, and he'd clearly made no attempt to use
them from the moment he'd arrived. When I raised this with N
(the Dutch) section I was told there was nothing to worry about 'The
whole thing has been looked into; the agent's all right.' There
was so much else to worry about that I put this enigma on one
side.
I had discovered that through no fault of anyone's (a rare situation
in SOE) an agent could have a long period of waiting between leaving
his training school and being dispatched to the field. His 'refresher
16
course in coding' was left to his original training officer, if he wasn't
too busy, or to his country section briefing officer, if he knew how
to code. In case this accounted for the high rate of indecipherables,
I raised a mortgage on my confidence and offered to brief agents
myself.
Word spread quickly that someone in SOE was volunteering for
extra labour, and my panel practice came of age when Buckmaster
asked me to brief two F section agents named, respectively, Peter and
Paul. Feeling like a pill-pusher with Messianic pretensions, I reported
to F section's Orchard Court flat to meet my first pupils.
Peter's surname was Churchill - and thanks to a briefing from Owen I knew far more about him than he about me. This slender
man, coiled in his chair like an exclamation mark with a moustache,
had got into the habit of slipping across to the South of France, usually
by submarine and canoe, and staying there as long as Buckmaster and
circumstances would permit. I had no idea what Peter's new mission
was but he seemed no more concerned about it than a day-tripper
with some business on the side. The prospect of the South of France
had put him in a holiday mood and it was with some reluctance that
he interrupted it for a 'spot of coding'.
Within the next five minutes he made as many mistakes. I asked
him to stop, which he did with alacrity. I knew that Peter had left
Cambridge with a degree in modern languages and the reputation of
being one of the finest ice-hockey blues the university had produced.
Hoping to establish common ground, I discussed the 'language of
coding', the rules of its 'grammar', the nature of its 'syntax'. I told
him that he 'spoke coding' with a bloody awful accent which would
give him away, and then switched metaphors. We chose five words
of his poem and lined them up as if they were members of his hockey
team, and I asked him for both our sakes to remember where the
goal was. He skated through two messages without one false pass
and was about to try a third when he received a phone call from
Buckmaster.
'Yes, Maurice? ... meet who? ... his name's what? ... (I was sure he could hear but being difficult was a sport for which he'd also won
a blue) but Maurice, I'm still having a hockey lesson from Marks . . .
all right then, if I must.'
17
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
He apologised for having to leave at half-time, promised not to get
sent off for foul coding, and hurried away.
I went next door and met my first frightened agent.
When Paul and I shook hands they needed galoshes. He seemed
even more of a refugee from the civil war of adolescence than I was.
He was English but spoke French like a native and was due to be
dropped into France in a few nights' time. He showed me a message
he'd been working on. He'd found a way to go wrong which not
even Skinnarland had thought of. He'd started by encoding his message
quite normally, then switched to the process reserved for decoding
it - which was like straddling two escalators going in opposite
directions. This was after eight weeks of training. I took him through
the whole system from beginning to end and he understood it perfectly,
which was even more worrying.
He suddenly asked what would happen if he made 'a bit of a
mistake' and sent us a message which we couldn't decode.
I didn't want him to know that he'd be dependent on me. I improvised
a little and told him that we had a team of girls who'd been specially
trained to break indecipherable messages. Each girl, I said, 'adopted'
an agent so that if he made a mistake or two in his messages, she'd be
familiar with his coding style. I then asked him to run through his poem
for me and took out his code-card to check the wording. He shyly
admitted that Tennyson's 'In Memoriam' was his favourite poem, and
that he was grateful to his instructor for allowing him to use it. He
added that he was afraid someone else might have picked it first.
He was silent for a few moments and then whispered the words I
wasn't sure to whom:
Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of being slow.
Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust;
And time, a maniac scattering dust,
And life, a fury slinging flame.
18
Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.
Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.
I was careful to keep looking at the code-card. There was nothing
more that I could say to him. But there was one thing that I could
do.
Without telling anyone, I ordered a car and went to meet the coders of Grendon.
Every girl in the code room at Station 53 could have walked out of
her job at a month's notice. They were all in the FANY, a volunteer
organization whose members could resign at will. The average age
.of these girls was twenty, though there was a sprinkling amongst
'them of watchful matriarchs, and most of them had been selected as
coders on an arbitrary basis because they happened to be available
| iwhen coders were wanted. After the briefest training they were dispatched
to one of the most secret establishments in England and left
to get on with it. They were never allowed to meet the agents whose
traffic they handled and who were only code-names to them. The
Gestapo had no more reality for these girls than when they'd joined
the FANY.
As I opened the door of the lecture room, forty of them stood to
attention. I wasn't sure how to get them to sit down again and made
|?a vaguely royal gesture which had no immediate effect. I walked up
||to the blackboard at the far end of the room, wrote out a message
| in code which I hoped was legible and turned to face them.
It was the first time I'd ever given a lecture except to the one or .two girls I'd taken out. I wasn't prepared for their impact en masse. I, I spotted two gigglers at the back of the room and talked only to |Xfaem for the first five minutes - about agents in the field and the risks
19
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
they took to send messages to us. I quoted verbatim from a telegram
Dansey had shown me only two nights ago about a Yugoslav partisan,
eighteen years old, who had been caught with a wireless transmitter,
had refused to betray the organizer whose messages he was sending
and was eventually taken to the mortuary 'no longer recognizable as
a human being'. They didn't handle Yugoslav traffic. There was a
sudden urgency in that room to handle the Gestapo.
I asked them to help break the message on the blackboard as if
they were the Gestapo; I showed them what enemy cryptographers
would look for if they had intercepted the message. I began to anagram
and asked them to join in. They were shy at first - but soon
suggestions were being called out from all round the room and those
from 'the gigglers' were amongst the brightest. I reserved them for
Paul.
It was oversimplified, of course, but it gave them the 'feel' of codebreaking,
and the principles they were shown were absolutely valid.
I let them finish the message themselves. The clear-text read: 'From
the coders of Grendon to the agents of SOE. there shall be no
SUCH THING AS AN INDECIPHERABLE MESSAGE.'
I knew I would be overloading the girls if I continued but I couldn't
resist it. I wanted them to see how the enemy would now mathematically
reconstruct the five words on which the message had been
encoded.
It took them twenty minutes to recover those words but no one
could identify the rest of the poem. I spoke it to them in full: ' "Be
near me when my light is low. . ."'
Two days later they sent me a message on the teleprinter: 'we
HAVE BROKEN OUR FIRST INDECIPHERABLE. THE CODERS
OF GRENDON.'
I sent them a message of congratulations on behalf of all agents.
The pilot light in SOE's code room had started to burn.
20
THREE
A Collector's Item
By July '42 I felt sufficiently at home to rummage through the Top
Secret documents on Dansey's desk while he and Owen were conferring
with Ozanne. Remembering that 'You mustn't judge a book by
its cover' was not only an agent's code-phrase but a Marks and Co.
house rule, I ignored all the Top Secret documents, and selected for
my further education an innocuous-looking folder which was lying
in an in-tray.
It contained a prime collector's item: a Situation Report on the
Free French, 'For Most Limited Distribution Only'. It soon became
apparent even to my racing eyes that SOE and de Gaulle were too
busy belittling each other's achievements to learn from each other's
mistakes. The report also made clear that the in-fighting between de
Gaulle and SOE had infected our policy-makers. They were unanimous
that France was the life's blood of SOE but couldn't decide
whether the formidable Frenchman should be treated as a valued ally
or an internal haemorrhage. The sound of Dansey's footsteps stopped
the rush of de Gaulle's blood to my head.
The report made no reference to a concession which SOE had
made to de Gaulle in the interests of Anglo-French relations. It was
a concession which amounted to a licence to lose agents and in the
midnight privacy of my cubbyhole I referred to it as 'the Free French
fuck-up'.
It was otherwise known as General de Gaulle's secret code.
Although de Gaulle, when he first occupied London in 1940, had
had nothing he could call his own except France, and badly needed
wireless facilities to tell her so, he had insisted at the outset of his
21
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
negotiations with SOE that all Free French agents must be allowed
to use a secret French code in addition to the one which SOE would
provide.
Our embryonic organization, having to fight for its life in the
Cabinet as well as in the field, didn't wish to risk losing the Free
French forces without having had a chance to evaluate them, and
agreed to the use of a secret French code on one condition: the
clear-texts of all messages in this code were to be distributed at once
to RF section which SOE had formed to deal exclusively with the
Free French. General de Gaulle gave his undertaking, the principle
was established and both sides agreed that there was to be no departure
from it.
SOE then laid on a special drill to implement this decision which
was sufficiently convoluted to keep all parties happy: whenever
a message was received from the field with a prefix denoting that it
was in secret French code, Station 53 teleprinted it to Dansey's distribution
department - which then passed it to RF section, which then
passed it to General de Gaulle's Duke Street headquarters, which
then decoded it and passed it back en clair to RF section - which
passed it back to DDD (Dansey's distribution department) for circulation.

Conversely, messages to the field were handed over in code to RF
section, with the en clair texts, and RF section then passed them to
DDD, which then transmitted the code messages to Station 53, which
then transmitted them.
This had become accepted procedure and no one saw the slightest
reason to disturb it. Nor had anyone in SOE raised the minor matter
of what kind of code the Free French were using. I hoped that they
kept it as secret from the Germans as they did from us.
I watched these messages passing through the code department
like distinguished strangers. And what distinguished them more than
anything else was that one out of every three was indecipherable. I
wasn't allowed to break them, nudge Duke Street into breaking them,
or provide any kind of first aid for them whatever.
They were de Gaulle's untouchables. And every one of them
reduced our battle-cry 'There shall be no such thing as an indecipherable
message' to the level of a good intention.
22
Nor did they promote mutual confidence at my briefing sessions
with the Free French. It was hard to face the agents knowing that I
could help them when they made mistakes in their British code, but
must look the other way when they made them in their French.
But, as Dansey firmly and sympathetically pointed out, it was de
Gaulle's code; SOE had agreed to cede all jurisdiction over it, and
the decision was irreversible. He advised me, though it had the force
of an order, 'to leave well enough alone'.
I enquired whether he meant 'sick enough alone' and turned to go.
'Keep up the good work,' he said.
The only good work I was party to was being done by the coders
of Grendon, who regarded an agent's indecipherable as a personal
affront and did their best to scratch its eyes out. They had begun
performing with the precision of relay racers and, by passing the baton
of indecipherables from one eager shift to another, had succeeded in
breaking 80 per cent of them within a few hours.
The bloody-minded ones which didn't respond, such as Einar Skinnarland's,
they grudgingly passed on to me.
I visited the coders as often as I could to suggest quicker ways to
the finishing post, to brief them about new agents, and because I
enjoyed the illusion of their undivided attention. Unfortunately during
one of these visits I was in the middle of explaining that the Free
French were the only agents burdened with a secret code of which
de Gaulle allowed us to know nothing, and that the strain of having
to use two systems caused the agents to send an inordinate number
of indecipherables in their British codes when Ozanne waddled in on
a state visit. I immediately stopped referring to a forbidden subject
but His Signals Majesty summoned me to his office to declare my
interest.
I explained that indecipherables in secret French code had shot up
by an alarming 12 per cent, and that Duke Street seemed to make
•no effort to break them. I then broke off on compassionate grounds
as Ozanne's complexion had suddenly begun to match the colour of
IjAis tabs and I suspected that his blood pressure had shot up by an
arming 100 per cent. He left me in no doubt whatever that if I
bed to keep my job I was never again to discuss, question or even
: about the secret French code. It was entirely de Gaulle's business
23
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
and anyone who didn't understand this had no place in the Signals
directorate. He reminded me that I was there 'simply to keep an eye
on agents' traffic', and was kind enough to add that he had heard
good reports about me from Pollock and Dansey. He then assured me that if I had any important problems, I could always bring them
direct to him.
A week later a Free French wireless operator was captured by the
Gestapo while he was still on the air. He had begun to sign off after
transmitting a message 250 letters long with a prefix denoting that
it was in secret French code. Duke Street released the text of this
message early next morning. It was a repeat of an indecipherable he
had sent a week earlier and ended with an apology from the agent
for his mistake in coding.
I waited until Dansey and Owen had left, then locked the door of
my office and set about unlocking de Gaulle's secret code.
My first step was to select a dozen outgoing messages in secret
code, a dozen incoming, and compare them with the en clair texts
which Duke Street had sent us.
This was not an exercise in cryptography. With the facilities at my
disposal it was a game of Scrabble played with General de Gaulle's
counters.
I gave the secret French code the nudge it needed.
I couldn't, or wouldn't, believe the result.
There was no secret French code. The Free French were passing all their traffic in the British poem-code and disguising it from us by
using a secret indicator system.
Whenever Duke Street and an agent communicated with each other
in 'secret' French code, they chose five words from their British poemcode
and encoded their message in the usual way. The difference was
that they used their secret indicator system to inform each other but
conceal from SOE - which words they had chosen.
Technically it meant that SOE's fragile poem-codes were being
used for two sets of traffic, when they could scarcely stand the strain
of one. As an additional side-effect, every time an indecipherable
was re-encoded in 'secret' French code it would be so easy for the
interception service to identify that the operator was virtually advertising
his whereabouts in neon-lit Morse.
24
I could see only one answer to this and set about providing it. I
worked out the secret indicator system of every Free French agent,
and got a timetable from Grendon of their wireless schedules so that
I could be ready to decode the secret French traffic the moment it
arrived.
I now had to lay on a special procedure sufficiently simple to avoid
arousing suspicion. This was the high-risk part of the operation.
The teleprinter operators were used to my wandering into their
office brooding over indecipherables, thinking up poems or cadging
tea. I told the supervisor that Duke Street had been complaining
about mutilations in traffic from the field and that, in future, I had
to check all incoming messages in secret French code before they were
sent to Duke Street. She didn't question this at all and handed me a
message in secret French code which had just come in from Salmon's
operator. I reeled Salmon's code-conventions into the lavatory for
maximum privacy, looked up his secret French indicator, applied it <- found that the message was perfectly encoded, remembered to pull
the chain and returned it to the distribution department within ten
minutes.
I It was the start of an interception service which I expected to be ; blown at any moment, but once the drill was established the girls
| ftever questioned it.
| As soon as a message was received from the field in 'secret' French |6ode, I collected it for 'checking' and deciphered it before Duke Street
|had a chance to see it. If it was properly encoded, it was sent round
po them at once. If it turned out to be indecipherable, I broke it as
uickly as I could and then re-encoded it accurately in secret French
ode so that Free French headquarters could read their own traffic. ' was at worst only a fringe infringement of de Gaulle's privacy.
Fortunately for the resources of a one-man code room the protMtion
of messages sent in secret French code was small (a little over > per cent) and my main problem in handling the traffic was that I was
te too careless ever to have offered myself a job. On one humiliating tecasion I broke an indecipherable, made a mistake in re-encoding ^ and sent Duke Street an indecipherable of my own. None of the
ages in 'secret' French code were operational: they were always
ned to political or administrative matters. Why de Gaulle had
25
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
made such an issue of using this code was none of my business. Being
accurate was.
One night I was engaged in this particular labour of hate when,
without any warning, the head of SOE walked in. He was known to
his organization as 'CD', a tiny symbol to embrace so vast a man.
Despite his size, Sir Charles Hambro could move very quietly and
was prone to prowl corridors. His tours of inspection were always
unexpected. He had seen a light on in my office and had come to
investigate.
Sir Charles looked at me intently, as if trying to recall where he
had seen me before. I willed him one of my blockages.
CD didn't know it, but we were neighbours. He had taken a flat
in Park West, a Hambro-sized block in Edgware Road, which for
him was only a stride away from Baker Street. My parents and I had
lived there since the building had first opened, a comment on its
durability. Our flat overlooked Sir Charles's and we had an excellent
view of his bathroom window. CD was very security-minded when
the black-out was on but relaxed his vigilance the moment it wasn't.
We frequently had the privilege of watching the oversized banker
wedged in his undersized bath, and Father suggested that he farted
his way out.
It was in a very much larger bath that CD had watched a gymkhana
of my own.
Park West had a swimming pool with a special facility for those
requiring even more rigorous exercise than that on offer in their
one-room flats. It consisted of thirty or so ropes suspended from the
ceiling with steel rings attached to the ends of them. These ropes
stretched across the entire length of the pool, a few feet above the
water. To cultivate the muscles necessary for my dealings with the
Signals directorate, I swung across these ropes forty or fifty times a
morning with obsessive regularity. To vary the monotony, and
because it was the only physical risk I had yet taken in the war, I
frequently performed this exercise fully clothed. One particular morning
I was swinging happily from ring to ring like a trainee gorilla,
with my gas mask dangling from my shoulder and my bowler hat
jammed firmly over my eyes, when I peered up at the balcony to see
the head of SOE staring down at me with riveted astonishment. I
26
was taught manners at St Paul's, if nothing else, tried to raise my
hat, and seconds later gazed respectfully up at him from the bottom
of the pool.
Now, as he filled the doorway of my office, I was once again in the
deep end. There were one or two items on my desk which CD must on
no account see. I stood up, which made no appreciable difference to
the view, and introduced myself. CD's bald head hovered over my desk
like a barrage balloon over suspect territory. I believed that most merchant
bankers were bent and hoped that this one couldn't read backwards.
He sat down and enquired what I was doing.
'Breaking an indecipherable, sir.'
'Oh? An indecipherable. Oh. Whose?'
'His code-name's Asparagus, sir. He's one of Major Buckmaster's
agents.'
The broken indecipherable lying in front of me contained several
references to 'mon general' which CD was unlikely to mistake for
Maurice Buckmaster of F section even at the end of his longest day.
CD expressed interest in seeing the message and held out a giant
hand. There was nothing I could do but shake it. Prompt diversionary
action was necessary. I grabbed a sheet of paper covered in figures
and ash, told him that these were my calculations for breaking the
message and proceeded to improvise a mathematical explanation.
The figures were, in fact, my attempts to work out my monthly salary
after the finance department had deducted tax. Fortunately CD was
quite prepared to believe that codes were beyond him. A few moments
later he professed himself very impressed by what he had seen and
got up to go. I had no wish to delay him. ? 'I was under the impression,' CD said quietly, 'that Asparagus was
Dutch.'
I felt like melted butter.
; He was right, of course. Vegetables such as Cucumber, Broccoli
l^and Kale were code-names for Dutch agents, who had been very finuch on my mind that day.
1^ The ineptitude of this lie to CD was the moment of truth for the
ishape of codes to come. It convinced me, and I could never go back
|6n it, that the traditional theory that all agents must memorize their
|Sodes was totally wrong.
27
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
If a healthy 'swinging' young man, in no danger at all except from
himself, could allow his unconscious to express its tensions in a lie
which even his dear old dad would have seen through, then how
much worse must it be for agents under duress struggling to remember
their false names, their imaginary families and the hundreds of other
detailed lies on which their survival depended. I was determined to
give them a code which would protect them instead of their having
to protect it, or I would leave SOE.
I cleared what remained of my throat. 'Do the country sections
ever admit if their agents are caught?'
That held him, and he asked me what I meant. Unsure of how
much of this would be filtered back to Ozanne, I said that the security
checks SOE was using seemed to be very unreliable; and it was
curious that although certain agents, particularly the Dutch, consistently
omitted their security checks their country sections ignored the
implication that they might have been caught.
Looking at me intently, Hambro asked how long I had been with
SOE. When I told him two months, he instructed me to continue
asking questions until I found the right answers, his tone suggesting
that he knew this would not be easy. He then said that it was time I
went home, and strode down the corridor like an elephant in slippers.
An hour later he was running his bath.
SOE regarded the Signals directorate as a benign post office which
delivered the mail more or less on time, could be given a kick in the
transmitters if it didn't, but never caused anyone the slightest bother.
The last thing the country sections expected was that a junior member
of that inoffensive directorate would call on them - on the absurd
pretext that the new codes he was devising must be shaped to meet
their long-term requirements. Many times during that fact-finding
tour I felt as if I were travelling across Europe in a carry-cot with a
suspect visa.
No matter which country section I visited, everything was in short
supply except confusion, and it was easy to mis-assess country section
officers because the constant need for improvisation made it difficult
to distinguish the few who understood their jobs from the majority
who didn't.
28
That was the marvellous and the terrifying part of SOE in its
dolescence: it was pitted and pockmarked with improbable people
[oing implausible things for imponderable purposes and succeeding
iy coincidence. One thing alone made it worth the price of the ticket.
[ was at the low levels at which I mixed - amongst the people SOE
Adn't really know it had - that the excitement of discovery really
iy. It peaked and stayed there whenever I met the proud holder
if the title 'Chairman of the Awkward Squad' - Flight Lieutenant 'eo-Thomas, who was one day to change his name by Resistance
Aovement deed poll to 'the White Rabbit'.
'Our Tommy' certainly wasn't everyone's Tommy. Many people
i SOE disliked him intensely but that wasn't his only recommenda- [on. He spoke bilingual French and had spent most of his life in
'ranee amongst Frenchmen. In 1939 he was general manager of one
if the world's most famous fashion houses - Molyneux of Paris, then
t the haute of its couture. He 'persuaded' the RAF to let him enlist
s a ranker at the age of thirty-eight. Three years later it was SOE's
am and he joined RF section as pilot-officer.
Not even SOE could miss his immediate impact on the Duke Street itransigents. To his superior's astonishment he was able to criticize
&e Free French to their faces without causing a national temper
intrum and was the only Englishman actually welcomed into Duke
treet by de Gaulle's fearsome right fist, young Colonel Passy. After Churchill, the man Tommy most admired was de Gaulle, and the
)ree French respected him for it even if Baker Street didn't. But there ?as one aspect of Tommy's conduct which worried SOE's hierarchy
ven more than his loyalty to Duke Street. He had earned his coveted tie because he refused to obey SOE's house rule forbidding officers
( different country sections from exchanging information. Tommy las always prepared to compare notes on the Gestapo, and similar
bscenities, with anyone in SOE of whatever nationality; in the insuItity
which passed for security, few responded.
'He hadn't waited till the Christmas after next to see for himself Ow indecipherables were broken. He'd looked in a few nights after tor first meeting and ever since then we'd indulged in a series of tte-night chat-shows during which we exchanged grievances, and
|ared the Havana cigars which I'd stolen from my father.
29
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
There were only two subjects which we never referred to. I didn't
tell him that I was keeping a 'watching brief on de Gaulle's secret
code, and Tommy for his part never tried to involve me in a discussion
about the rival French section run by Buckmaster, which recruited
from those who owed no allegiance to de Gaulle. He disapproved of
the principle of there being two French sections to win one war and
left it at that.
One smoky midnight, when I hadn't seen him for about a week
and was almost missing him, I was struggling with an indecipherable
from a Norwegian wireless operator named Gunwald Tomstad, Wilson
had told me that the Admiralty was anxiously waiting to read
Tomstad's message, and wanted to pass its contents to 'a former
naval person'. And then, as if reference to Churchill was not sufficient
incentive, Wilson proceeded to warn me that if we hadn't broken the
message before Tomstad's next schedule - which was only a few
hours away - he would order him to re-encode and repeat it no
matter what the consequences.
I thought of all the things Tomstad had done right as I tried to
rectify what he hadn't.
He was a farmer who lived near a sea-port and regularly reported
the movements of U-boats. He seemed to regard submarines as an
extension of his livestock and his reports had already dispatched six
to market, with two 'possibles'. But U-boat spotting was only the
fringe of farmer Tomstad's war effort.
In 1941 he had been wireless operator for Odd Starheim (codename
Cheese) and had sent a message from Starheim reporting that
four German warships were hiding in a fjord. The Admiralty immediately
despatched the Prince of Wales and the Hood, and the subsequent
sinking of the Bismarck and the crippling of the Prinz Eugen were directly attributable to Starheim's messages and Tomstad's
operating.
Starheim was now back in London giving Wilson no peace until
he was allowed to join Tomstad, and demanding to know the content of his latest message.
I tried my thousandth key without success. There was little time
left. I didn't hear the door open but knew who was standing there.
Tommy recognized the symptoms of 'indecipherabilititis' and asked
30
A COLLECTOR'S ITEM
if he could help. I told him the bastard indecipherable wasn't from
France. He shot me a tommy-gun look of utter contempt, then took off his tunic and sat down at the desk.
He spent the next two hours doing the dull, routine job of checking
my work-sheets without really understanding them, but it was help
beyond price to Tomstad and me. We pierced the indecipherable's
hull at three in the morning ('cruiser in harbour disguised as island
with tree in the middle'). Tommy didn't even glance at the clear-text.
I'd have liked to tell him that it might soon be on its way to the man
he most admired, a 'former naval person' - but I couldn't. I went
into Dansey's office, closed the door and read the clear-text on the
'scrambler' to the Norwegian duty officer.
I returned to my office to finish the job.
The coders of Grendon had done all they could to break that
inessage, and they deserved the satisfaction of succeeding. I telephoned
the night supervisor and told her that I hadn't broken the message and was on my way home. I suggested twenty or so keys,
tocluding the correct one, and asked her to pass them to the night
isquad. I reminded her that if they did have any success, the message must be teleprinted to London marked 'Absolute Priority'. I wished
(hem better luck than I'd had.
> Tommy studied me thoughtfully as I gave him his cigar. 'How old s!ae you?' he asked.
's 'Twenty-three.' I was tempted to be more specific and add 'next |&onth'; I enjoyed presents.
| He gave me one: 'Would you like', he asked, 'to tell me what's
S^orrying you?'
I'" I memorized the way he said it so that I could try it on the coders.
|1 Thanks, Tommy. But it would take all night.'
I' 'I've got all night.'
i? 'It's the poem-code! It has to go.'
( Tell me why. And then tell me what you think should replace
I.'
^'I spared him nothing. My worry had a technical name: trans- (fesition-keys. They were the code equivalent of an anxiety neurosis.
jPEvery agent had to work out his transposition-keys before he could ptther send a message or decode one from us. I wanted Tommy to
31
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
see for himself the kind of effort this involved in the soothing atmosphere
of occupied Europe.
I asked him if there were any particular poem or phrase he would
like to use; he left it to me. I wrote one out and told him it was based
on an SOE opinion poll:
YEO THOMAS IS A PAIN IN THE ARSE
The lowest letter in that phrase is A. I asked him to put the figure 1
beneath it.
YEO THOMAS IS A PAIN IN THE ARSE
1.
Then the figure 2 beneath the second A, a 3 beneath the third, a 4
beneath the fourth:
YEO THOMAS IS A PAIN IN THE ARSE
1. 2. 3. 4.
The next letter is E. I asked him to put a 5 beneath it. Then 6 and 7
beneath the remaining es.
YEO THOMAS IS A PAIN IN THE ARSE
5. 1. 2. 3. 6. 4. 7.
Without waiting to be asked, Tommy continued numbering the rest
of the letters in alphabetical order until we were looking at:
YEO THOMAS IS A PAIN IN THE ARSE
25.5.16. 23.8.17.13.1.20.10.21. 2. 18.3.1114.12.15.24.9.6. 4.1922.7.
That numbered phrase was called a transposition-key. I broke the
good news that all messages were encoded on a pair of transpositionkeys
- so the agent now had to start numbering another one using,
for security reasons, a different five words of his poem. An interesting
repeat performance with an uninvited audience on the prowl outside.
32
A COLLECTOR'S ITEM
The slightest mistake in the numbering would render the entire
message indecipherable. The smallest error in the spelling would also
produce gibberish. The permutations of mistakes an agent could make
ran into hundreds of millions - and he still hadn't started to encode
his message.
To do so, the agent used his transposition-keys to put his clear text
through a series of complex convolutions not unlike Ozanne's mind,
so that the message arrived in London in jumbled form where we
(hopefully) could unscramble it because we (hopefully) were the only
ones who knew what his poem was.
Unless the Germans had tortured it out of him.
i Or unless their cryptographers had broken one of his messages and mathematically reconstructed the words of his poem.
. I told Tommy that the poem-code must go and be replaced by one ^which the agents could not possibly remember. Their transposition;
keys must never again be based on words, poetic or otherwise. They ftroust be mass-produced by hand by specially trained groups of coders
? shuffling numbered counters at random.
. -. We would give each agent a series of transposition keys already ^worked out for him - and printed on silk. To encode a message, he {.would simply have to copy out the keys we had prepared for him land
immediately cut them away from the silk and burn them. There
|SKOuld be no way that he could possibly remember the figures he had .used. They would all have been selected at random - and would be ^different for every single agent in the field.
| Each silk would contain sufficient keys for 200 messages - 100 t&orn the agent to us, 100 from us to him. The greatly increased
|security of these 'worked-out' keys would allow the messages to be jshorter. One hundred letters could be sent instead of the existing
Iminimum of 200.
| The cryptographic parlour-game would be closed for the season.
||Enemy cryptographers would no longer have poems to reconstruct
S^nd would have to tackle every single message individually - an gmdertaking which was anathema to all cryptographers. Every mesjlilge
to and from the field would confront them with a new code,
||hd to sustain an 'absolute priority' attack on this kind of traffic pvould mean that the bulk of Germany's cryptographic manpower
33
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
would have to be deflected on to SOE - which would in itself be a
major contribution to the war effort.
Indecipherables would be reduced to a minimum because we would
no longer have to play the guessing-game, 'Which word has he misspelt?'
The worked-out keys would also be proof against Morse mutilation,
which frequently rendered perfectly encoded messages
indecipherable because the indicator-groups (telling us which words
the agent had chosen) were so badly garbled.
Silk itself was easy to cut, easy to burn and easy to camouflage. If
the Gestapo or Vichy police ran their hands over an agent's clothing
during a random street search, silk sewn into the lining could not be
detected.
All the resources of the Gestapo would not force an agent to reveal
a code he could not possibly remember. Destroying his worked-out
keys as soon as he had used them must become as reflex to an agent
as pulling the ripcord of his parachute.
But there was one thing for which he could still be tortured. His
security check. And this to me was the most haunting and daunting
issue of all. If we couldn't solve this problem, we had solved nothing.
For the first time I found myself wondering how best to put something
to that silent, motionless figure with his unlit cigar. 'I need two
minutes, Tommy.'
I grabbed a sheet of paper and started scribbling. Tommy would
know if what followed was right, and I would be bound by his
judgement.
When I'd finished, I wrote something on the blotter in front of me
and covered it with an ashtray. I then showed him my scribbling. It
was intended to be an artist's impression of how a silk code would
look. All it lacked was the artist:
OUTSTATION TO HOME
14.2.13.4.6.13.1.5.7.15.3.9.11.16.10.8. 6.10.13.2.4.11.7.9.12.3.5.8.1. CEDQT
9.10.1.7.11.4.12.8.5.2.6.13.3. 11.5.7.12.2.6.3.8.9.1.10.4. PKBDO
2.9.5.10.14.1.6.11.4.15.8.3.12.12.7. 4.6.1.5.7.9.2.1.13.8.12.10. RYTGE
6.3.7.4. 8.9.2.10.5.11.13. 1.14.12. 3.1.10.4.6.2.7. 8. 5. 9.11. UVHJG
4.7.8.1. 9.2.10.11.3.5. 6. 12.13.14. 4.6.7.8. 5.1.9.10. 2.11.12.3. ZAUBA
34
A COLLECTOR'S ITEM
The explanation came out in a rush and a jumble:
'I'm an agent. Tommy, and I've been caught with my silk code on
me. I've destroyed all the previous keys I've used but the Gestapo
know bloody well that if they can torture my security check out of
me they can use the rest of these keys to transmit messages to London
and pretend they're from me.
'You'll see that opposite each pair of keys there are five letters
printed. These are indicator-groups to tell London which pair of keys
I've used to encode my message. The next pair I'm due to use are the
ones at the top - starting 14.2.13.4. The indicator group is cedqt.
After this I'm due to use the next pair of keys - starting 9.10.1.7.
The indicator-group ispKQOO.ButI never use these indicator-groups
exactly as they are printed. I have prearranged with London always
to add 3 to the first letter and 2 to the fourth. Take the indicator
cedqt. c plus 3 is f, and Q plus 2 is s. So, instead of sending
cedqt I send fedst. Instead of sending pkbdo I send skbfo.
At least, that's what I'm telling you because you're the Gestapo.
All my previous indicator-groups have been destroyed; how can
you know if I'm telling you the truth? Rough me up and I'll change
it once again. When do you stop? Now I've written on this blotter
what my real secret numbers are. If you can guess 'em, these Havanas
are yours - and you'll be the only cigar-smoking Kraut in Baker
Street.'
Herr Forest Frederick von Yeo-Thomas sat in silence for a very
long time. I didn't interrupt him - except to say, somewhat nervously,
that this was only one of the codes I hoped to introduce.
By the time the security-vetted cleaning women arrived to claim
the office, his mind was made up. 'You're going to have a hell of a
fight to get this accepted. I'm with you all the way. Let me know
how I can help.'
I nodded.
'If it were done,' he said, misquoting a phrase then being used as
a code by an F section agent,' 't were well it were done on the bloody
double!'
I agreed.-The pails in the corridor sounded like church bells.
He got up to go. Then turned by the door and looked hard at me.
35
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYAIiTIDE
He must have had a strong stomach. 'Merde alors with your new
codes'
He then added - almost as an afterthought - 'I may soon be needing
one myself.'
36
FOUR
'Merde Alors!9
Scrambler telephones were in great demand in SOE because they were
not only proof against crossed lines and wire-tapping but implied that
those who possessed them had something to say which was worth
overhearing. It hadn't occurred to me to ask for one of my own but
early in September I found that a green telephone with three buttons
on it had been installed on my desk, so I must have been doing
something right. Pasted across it was a memo from Dansey emphasizing
that it was to be used for Top Secret conversations only.
I pressed the right buttons to tell Tommy that I had a fresh stock
of Havanas, and then contacted the Grendon supervisor to ask what
progress the girls were making in the task I had set them of writing
poems for agents. I'd made the suggestion a fortnight ago but the
girls still hadn't produced a single stanza. Their supervisor assured
me, with the hint of a chuckle, that I would not have long to wait.
I was still pondering the significance of that chuckle when I received
an incoming call on the new toy from the commanding officer of
Station 53, a benign major named Phillips who presided over his
clandestine estate like a country squire.
Dispensing with the normal courtesies, he broke some bad news
in a voice so strained that I considered asking him for proof of
identity. 'Gammel's here.'
Brigadier Gammel was the commanding officer of the FANY Corps
and I knew from a five-minute interview with her that she could cause
grievous bodily harm with a glance. The whole of SOE was in awe of her. She was the embodiment of her famous pronouncement:
'Members of the FANY Corps must at all times conduct themselves like ladies.'
37
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I asked the distraught major if Gammel were causing him any
problems.
'Almost as many as you,' he snapped. And told me why.
The FANY supremo had arrived at Station 53 on a tour of inspection.
After examining the remotest corners of Grendon for signs of
impropriety, the bellicose brigadier had walked into the FANY mess,
which was normally only marginally quieter than the last few minutes
of a Cup Final. But today the acute Gammel ear was greeted by
absolute silence. Even more unexpected to the piercing Gammel eye
was the spectacle of a dozen or so FANYs clustered round a table
totally absorbed in the ladylike pursuit of composing poems. She
asked Phillips who had thought of this admirable idea. Mr Marks of
Baker Street was given due credit. Gammel then advanced to the table
to inspect the quality of her charges' writings.
She was now on the telephone complaining to Ozanne. Those dear
girls, who knew damn well that Gammel was visiting them, had
produced samples of hard-core pornography which Marks &; Co.
would have hidden in a glass case on the fourth floor, surrounded
by Bibles.
Phillips read to me the first (and mildest) of the stanzas Gammel
had examined:
Is de Gaulle's prick
Twelve inches thick
Can it rise
To the size
Of a proud flagpole
And does the sun shine
From his arse-hole?
He invited my comments.
I told him that the imagery was unusual, the words easy to memorize
and the content not at all what the enemy would be expecting. I
asked him to tell the girls that I was absolutely delighted with it and
looked forward to receiving the rest.
He put down the receiver.
An hour later Ozanne sent for me and accused me of attempting
'MERDE ALORS! '
to corrupt the FANY coders. It wasn't the moment to tell him that
almost overnight his open city of a poem-code had taken on a new
dimension of menace.
I'd learned from Dansey that there were soon to be operations,
infiltrations and campaigns by the dozen in all the occupied territories,
and that an unprecedented event was due to take place by the end
of '42: General de Gaulle had given his permission for an Anglo-Free
French mission (the first of its kind) to be sent into France to prepare
for the Allied landings in '43, and 'our Tommy' was to be the Anglo.
Then there was the invasion of North Africa, code-name Torch,
which General Elsenhower was planning for November/December
'42. SOE had somehow persuaded Ike to allow an SOE mission to
accompany the invading forces with its own communications direct
to London and France.
There was also a mysterious operation into Norway referred to in
whispers by its code-name, Grouse. Whatever Grouse was, it was
scheduled to take place any time from the end of September, which
was only a few weeks away.
All this new business was a major breakthrough for Baker Street
head office but it was potentially an even bigger one for the German
cryptographers. The moment they realized that our traffic was becoming
important enough to warrant a full-scale blanket attack, the
poem-code would provide them with a catalogue of wide-ranging
war efforts at bargain prices.
I hurried off to consult the only friend I had yet made in the Signals
hierarchy.
His name was Eric Heffer and he was our in-house expert on
Ozanne. He was a civilian like myself but had been a captain in the
First World War and preferred to be addressed as such. No one was
quite sure exactly what his duties were. Occasionally he would leave
his office in Norgeby House to wander at his leisure round Ozanne's
kingdom, having the effect upon all of us of a walking tranquillizer.
Despite the daily crisis which surrounded him, Heffer remained
permanently imperturbable. There was no known example of anyone or anything being able to hurry him. The one thing he could do with
quite exceptional speed was think - a practice he recommended to
me.
39
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
Producing each syllable as if it were a cigarette he had just carefully
rolled, he explained that Ozanne's real weakness was not so much
stupidity as respect for the Establishment. He simply couldn't bring
himself to question their judgement. If the Establishment had decided
that chamber pots made first-class transmitters, he'd have had SOE
peeing in Morse. Almost doing so myself, I asked a) what the Establishment
specialized in and b) whether it had a name.
No longer surprised by anything I didn't know, he accelerated to
a crawl which served to remind me of my progress. The Establishment
was officially called SIS (Secret Intelligence Service) though old hands
in SOE invariably referred to the rival organization as 'C' (its Chief's
code-name), and its speciality was thwarting SOE.
C had been running the British Secret Service (with emphasis on
the Secret) since 1911 and were appalled when SOE received a mandate
from Churchill in 1940 to Set Europe Ablaze. Their agents were
intelligence-gatherers: ours were saboteurs, and C were convinced
that the only thing they'd set ablaze was their agents' cover. SOE
was convinced that C resented any organization which threatened its
monopoly, and the mutual antipathy had the growth potential of an
obsession.
In 1941 control of SOE's communications became a major issue.
Our wireless station at Grendon was still being constructed, and we
were forced to allow C to handle our early traffic. The station opened
in June '42 (the month I joined SOE) and we withdrew the traffic
immediately, much to C's annoyance as they could no longer monitor
it.
Painstakingly Heffer finally turned to the subject which most concerned
me. To C, giving codes to their peacetime agents had been a
minor problem: there were so many channels of communication open
to agents that poem-codes could safely be used, and this in itself was
a definition of peace. But setting up two-way wireless traffic for circuits
of agents in enemy-occupied territories was a wholly new event
for which there were no precedents or guidelines, and by 1940 they
had lost most of the agents they had put into Europe. This did not
deter them from making a suggestion which threatened the existence
of ours.
Ozanne was advised by his friend and mentor Brigadier Gambier-
40
Parry, C's director of Signals, that their agents were going to continue
using the poem-code (or some minor variation of it) as he had
no doubt whatever that agents' codes should be carried in their
heads. This was all Ozanne needed to hear. What was good enough
for the agents of the British Secret Service must be good enough
for SOE's.
I waited for Heffer to tell me how we were going to transfer codes
from aching heads to cuttable silk. But he chose this of all moments
to indulge his knack of switching on silence as if it were airconditioning.
The captain emerged from his trance freshly recommissioned
to announce that even in wartime few battles were won
by direct confrontation - and even fewer if they were fought inside
SOE. He had several ideas for outflanking Ozanne but would need
time to consider them. Drawing on the last of the day's reserves, he
agreed that worked-out keys (which we christened 'WOKs' to save
breath) should be introduced as soon as possible - but there were
'one or two other things wrong' in the Signals directorate which had
also to be put right. He recommended me to be patient for a little
while longer.
He was too exhausted to tell me the formula.
The 'one or two other things wrong' were agents' sets, signal-plans
and call-signs.
A signal-plan was a WT operator's timetable and he had to adjust
his life to it. He had to be beside his set at certain specified times or
risk losing contact with London. If he missed a fixed schedule, he
had to wait for the next. But a radio operator was usually responsible
for the traffic of other agents, including his own organizer, all of
whom had poem-codes but no training in wireless transmission. This
multiplied the pressures on him to keep his inflexible schedules irrespective
of risk.
Call-signs identified an operator's traffic to the Home Station and
the Home Station's traffic to him. They were the equivalent of Morse
visiting cards and were an open invitation to the Gestapo's social
services.
Signal-plans, call-signs and codes were the fundamentals of clandestine
communication. But the Signals Directorate allowed no liaison
41
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
between the officers who produced them. The Gauleiter of Signals
preferred to keep us apart.
I took a surreptitious trip to the suburbs of Signalsland and it
was worth every Ozanne-fraught minute of it. Many resourceful and
imaginative technicians had ideas for improving the wireless side of
agents' traffic but, apart from a few minor changes which had slipped
through unnoticed, Ozanne had overruled them. I was prepared to
leave if he vetoed WOKs.
The whole of SOE was suddenly a department store preparing for
the Christmas rush, but all I found in my order book was an indecipherable
from Einar Skinnarland. There were four messages from
Colonel Wilson demanding that I break it.
A work-out with Skinnarland in our private gym would be a welcome
respite from the prospect of going fifteen rounds with Ozanne.
But the chronic invalid of coding had let me off lightly this time with
a minor rupture of his key-phrase, and I found the right truss for it
in a matter of minutes. The message was written in his usual mixture
of Norwegian and English, which was excellent security and the one
thing Skinnarland could be relied upon to do properly.
It was only when I spotted two words tucked away in the last line
that I realized which of us was the chronic invalid. The words were
'heavy water'.
They had been distilled by Morse mutilation into 'heaxy woter'.
I wondered what heavy water was.
There were half a dozen files in Dansey's safe reserved for the
special Skinnarland traffic which had been smuggled into Sweden and
then re-routed to London by courier or diplomatic bag. I was allowed
access to these files to help me break Skinnarland's indecipherables
but until now the only one I'd studied was the file which contained
his early messages. I soon realized why they were locked in a safe.
There were main-line telegrams from CD to Washington; mainline
telegrams to CD from neutral Sweden (our men in Oslo were Munthe,
Mitchelson and Binney); and main-line telegrams from Sweden to
Wilson and from Wilson to Sweden; there was also a ten-page report
from Munthe to Wilson (decoded by Dansey) and an even longer one
(encoded by Dansey) from Wilson to Munthe.
42
All of them were Top Secret. All of them dealt with the same
subject: the heavy-water plant, the Norsk Hydro, at Rjukan.
SOE's Norwegian directorate had been mounting a massive Intelligence-gathering
operation which was astonishing in its breadth and
detail:
They knew that in 1941 the Germans had ordered the plant to step
up production of heavy water to 10,000 pounds within the next year;
they knew how the Germans were planning to transport the heavy
water from Norway to Germany; they knew the structure of the
plant and its fortifications better than the layout of their own offices;
they even knew where the guards were billeted, how many were
on duty at any one time and the disposition of the sentries on the
suspension bridge between Vermok and Rjukan. All this information
had been passed by SOE to the Chiefs of Staff, who put it before
Churchill.
The PM immediately asked Professor Lindemann, his chief scientific
adviser, for a technical assessment. Professor Lindemann had no
doubt at all (he seldom had) that the Germans required this heavy
water to produce atomic bombs, atomic rockets and other atomic
weapons as yet unknown.
The whole of SOE's information about heavy water flowed from
one source: Einar Skinnarland. He was an engineer at the heavy-water
plant. He had helped the Norwegians to build it and he was now
committed to its destruction.
Sorry Mr Skinnarland, sir. Code with both eyes closed, if you aren't
already.
The last document - in many ways the most revealing of all summarized
the history of the plant and the extraordinary way in
which Skinnarland had been recruited.
The plant and its laboratories had been built before the war on
the most isolated spot which the Norwegians could find - the Barren
Mountain between Vermok and Rjukan, in the precipice- and glacierbound
wilderness of Hardanger Vidda. The Germans invaded Norway
in 1940 and at once took over the plant - forcing its Norwegian
technicians (including Skinnarland) to continue working there under
supervision.
To find out more about the plant and if possible to recruit some
43
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
of the technicians, SOE dropped Odd Starheim on to a snow-covered
field in Norway in December 1941 and left him to find his own way
to the Barren Mountain. It was the same Odd Starheim (code-name
Cheese) whose previous messages had helped the navy to sink the Bismarck and cripple the Prinz Eugen.
In March 1942 Starheim was introduced to Mr Skinnarland by a
mutual friend - and it was sabotage at first sight. Skinnarland agreed
to come to London with Starheim, bringing all the information he
could about the plant and its fortifications.
Since SOE couldn't provide the transport, Starheim hijacked a
coastal steamer, ordering the captain at pistol-point to change course
for Aberdeen. Starheim had also invited a number of other Norwegians
to join him on the 'trip' so that they could be trained by
SOE as saboteurs and WT operators. Tomstad sent a message alerting
Wilson that Starheim's boat was heading for Scotland and would
welcome air cover. The RAF, as ever, obliged.
So did Skinnarland. As soon as he arrived in London he gave
Wilson the fullest possible briefing about the plant - and in return
was given a twelve-day crash course in the craft of sabotage and the
agony of coding. In March '42 he was dropped back into Norway his
first ever jump - and landed on ice near his home in Hardanger
Vidda. He reported to the plant, explained that he'd been ill and
resumed his job as if he'd never left it. He was now awaiting the
arrival of a sabotage team from London.
The four agents who'd been selected to blow up the plant had been
waiting since mid-April to be dropped into Norway, The operation
had already been postponed three times due to exceptionally bad
weather, and they were still in London expecting the next attempt to
be made in late September. The code-name of the operation was
Grouse.
I closed the Grouse files.
Was it coincidence that in three days' time I had an appointment
to brief four Norwegian agents who 'were standing by to go into the
field after one or two delays'? Wilson had arranged this appointment
personally (unusual) and confirmed it to me in writing (unprecedented).
They had to be the Grouse team.
And when they made their bid to deny the Germans the use of
44
atomic power they would be sending their messages in the poem-code.
I telephoned Ozanne's secretary and said that I needed to see the
colonel on an urgent matter, that it would take about an hour and
that I would be grateful if Colonel Pollock could be present. I also
requested the use of a blackboard.
She asked me to hold on and a few moments later told me that
Colonel Ozanne would see me at ten in the morning. She sounded
as surprised as I felt. She then added that Colonel Pollock could not
be present; he was away at a training school. That was a setback
because barristers have been known to take kindly to silk.
I spent half the night preparing for the appointment, the other half
wishing I hadn't made it. I needed a booster from Tommy and I tried to phone him but he was still at Duke Street in conference with Passy.
I left a message for him to ring me if he possibly could. It was essential to be prepared for a total rejection from Ozanne and I tried to work out a contingency plan.
At one in the morning Tommy phoned. I told him of my appointment
with Ozanne.
He instructed me to keep my voice up, not to smoke cigars, under no circumstances to make a joke - and above all to cut off my temper
like a silk code and burn it before I went in. I promised to comply.
He then wished me 'Merde alors!' - the ultimate SOE benediction.
I'd need it with the ultimate SOE merde.
45
FIVE
All Things Bright and
Beautiful
Hoping Ozanne had cancelled our appointment, I knocked on the
door of his Norgeby House office and aged five minutes (the wartime
equivalent of as many years) when I was instructed to enter. He was
seated behind a large desk covered with what I imagined were unread
signals. The blackboard I'd asked for was a few feet away.
I imparted the good news that I'd come to show him how I believed
the enemy would attack the poem-code, and he invited me to
take all the time I needed; he had no other appointments for fifteen
minutes.
I wrote out two coded messages, one on top of the other. Each
message was fifty-five letters long, and by the time I'd given every
pair of letters a number he was already consulting his watch.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.
Message I: CNAERSSNGEOONN
Message 2: THI STEPFNDSLOA
15. 6. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28.
Message I (cont.): ROSEEEISOAOLNG
Message 2 (cont.): OY ENWSNMHAEGD I
29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42.
Message I (cont.): CEEEEERETDLSZE
Message 2 (cont.): EPBEKSTKUGIGDS
43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55.
Message I (cont.): LTHS SNAVANTEM
Message 2 (cont.): UUSEEATRNCCOE
I explained that the messages were mini-examples of our agents'
traffic. They'd been encoded on the same poem using the same five
words, and were of equal length. This all too frequent occurrence
46
was every cryptographer's wish-fulfilment as it gave him what was known in the trade as a 'depth of two'.
I glanced round at him. He was reading a newspaper. 'Quite,' he
said, peering over the top of it.
I asked him what words he thought a cryptographer would look
for when he tackled an average SOE message, and he picked up one
of his signals.
'Dropping grounds,' he said, 'and containers and moon periods.
That sort of bumph.'
'Yes, sir,' I said encouragingly. 'And "message begins" and "message
ends" and "sorry about my indecipherable", and that sort of
bumph.'
I then suggested that the messages contained the names of some of
SOE's key figures, and that the enemy would try to anagram them.
Whose names would they be most likely to start looking for?
After a modest pause he conjectured that his own might be one of them.
Thank God we'd got that far. I asked him if he considered rank
to be important. He looked hard at me and agreed that it was. I
wrote the words colonel ozeanne on the blackboard.
'You've spelled my name wrong, damn it.'
I apologized and tried to make capital out of it. 'It's an uncommon
? one, sir - but its letters aren't, except for the z. That's the first letter
they'd try to pinpoint. Is there a z in either message?'
; 'No.'
i 'Sorry, sir. It must be my bad writing. What's that letter in the top
message under number 41?'
'That's supposed to be a z is it?'
h 'Yes, sir, and that's a D beneath it, in the bottom message. Those ; two letters must be tackled together. And that's true of all the other
(pairs of letters in the messages, sir. That's because both texts have
; fceen encoded on the same transposition-keys and put through the
same poem-code mangier. That makes our stint much easier because
instead of having to anagram each message separately, we can ana,gram
them together. If we find a word in the top message, the letters
jin the bottom message should also make sense. If we find a word in Ae bottom message, the letters in the top message should also form
It 47
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
one. So if "Colonel Ozeanne" is on top, we shall soon discover what
you've got underneath you!'
I showed him what I meant before he had me arrested.
41.
Top message: COLONELOZEANNE
Bottom message: D
The only z in either message was at number 41 in the code-groups
and d was beneath it. So whatever word lay beneath 'Ozeanne', the
letter d had to be part of it.
The first step in the anagramming was to write out his name with
all the letters from the bottom message which fell beneath it:
Top message: COLONELOZEANNE
Bottom message: T' S" G26 S" H2 S4 G26 S" D41 S4 I3 H2 H2 S4
U29 T 12 T39 T 12 T;8 r\10 y39 T 12 T-)10 A 24 p8 p8 plO
Y16 U43 Y" 0" N18 U43 Y" N18 T4'' 0" O13 N18
H23 H23 A14 W" H23 W19 N" A14 A14 W19
E25 E25 D27 S20 E25 S20 D27 D27 S20
A48 p30 p30 ^48 A48 p30
C52 B31 B31 C52 C52 B31
E32 E32 E32
K33 K33 K33
S34 S34 S34
K36 K36 K36
S42 S42 S42
Q54 Q54 Q54
Cryptographers on a diet of alphabet soup would quickly recognize
familiar ingredients, but Ozanne's appetites lay in other directions
and I asked him to look first at the letters beneath the word
colonel. Were there any words forming ? Or familiar combinations
of letters? th, for example, or er or on or an or re? Was there
anything promising under colon? He told me what he usually found
there and finally volunteered that he could see the word this. The
coders of Grendon would have spotted thus as well, but at least
we'd begun.
48
Top message: COLONELOZEANNE
Bottom message: V_ S" G26 S^ H2 S4 G2' S" D41 S4 I3 H2 H2 S4
E29 L12 1^ L12 F8 D10 I3' L12 D10 A24 F8 F8 D10
Y16 U43 Y16 O13 N18 U43 Y" N18 T49 0" O13 N18
H23 H23 A14 W19 H23 W19 N51 A14 A14 W19
E25 E25 D27 S20 E25 S20 D27 D27 S20
448 p30 p30 A 48 A 48 p30
•^ A 1 1 I\ rt 1
C52 B31 B31 C52 C52 B31
E32 E32 E32
K33 K33 K33
C34 C34 (.34
„ J 0 .5
K36 K36 K36
S42 S42 S42
O54 O54 O54
Couldn't we £nd what followed this? Couldn't we, sir? Couldn't
we? After more subliminal prodding he eventually concluded that the
word couldn't could be in the bottom message.
Top message: COLONELOZEANNE
i Bottom message: V S" G26 S^ H2 S4 G26 S" D^ S4 I3 H2 H2 S4
? „ E2' L12 I39 L12 F8 D10 I39 L^ D10 A24 F8 F8 D10
Y" U43 Y16 0" N18 U43 Y" N18 T^ O13 O13 N18
i „ H23 H23 A14 W" H23 W" N" A" A14 W"
i „ E25 E" D27 S20 E25 S20 D27 D27 S20
; ^ A48 P3" P30 A48 A48 P30
i „ Cf2 B31 B31 C52 C52 B31
f „ E32 E32 E32
|: „ K33 K33 K33
I „ s34 s34 s34
^ „ K36 K36 K3'
I „ S42 S42 S42
I „ o^ o54 o54
IProgress to date:
S,
|^ Top message: COLONEL OZEANNE
| Bottom message: THI SCOU LDNT
In'
This couldn't what?
The letters under nne were aching to tell us.
49
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Top message: N N E
Bottom message: H H S
F F D
0 0 N
A A W
D D S
A A P
C C B
E
K
Ozanne considered hop was a promising combination. 'This couldn't
hop?' I guided him on to hap . 'This couldn't hap—'? What did hap—
suggest? 'happy,' he said. I told him this word hadn't yet manifested
itself in SOE's traffic. Nor did I expect it to happen. He got there.
Top message: COLONEL OZEANNE
Bottom message: THI SCOU LDNTHAPPEN
The letters above pen would tell us what Colonel Ozanne was up to.
Letters above pen (printed downwards for convenience):
PEN
E S E
S S I
E A
C C
S
0
M
S
I pointed to the five ss, and asked if he had any suggestions. None
were forthcoming.
'There is one word beginning with s that everyone associates with
you, sir!'
He looked at me suspiciously and demanded to know which word
I meant.
50
'Signals'.
'Of course,' he said.
I chalked it up.
Top message: COLONEL OZEANNES S IGNALS
Bottom message: THISCOU LDNTHAPP EN
There was a real eye-catcher, though Ozanne's were half-closed,
in the letters beneath GNALS:
I H I G E
N F A I P
0 T U E
AN M
D G
A E
C E
I put to my comatose colonel that the word if was a natural to
follow 'this couldn't happen', and that age could be the start of the
most important word in our joint vocabularies: agents.
COLONELOZEANNES SIGNALS---
THISCOU LDNTHAPP ENI FAGENTS
The letters above nts offered us mercifully little choice (printed
downwards for convenience):
NTS
H C E
FRO
ORE
A A E
D E
A H
C F
from was a likely starter; there was an m waiting to oblige at
number 22 in the code-groups. But are was also a possibility.
I asked which of them he fancied.
I can see a b up there,' he announced, 'and an f-'
51
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
And I could see a OF in the room.
'Let's leave Signals, sir,' I said, knowing that I might have to shortly.
'What else should we be looking for?'
'SOE,' he said. 'Everyone else is.'
A bullseye for Ozanne. SOE would take us in sight of the finish!
Letters beneath SOE (assuming it was in the top message):
soe
e s s
p L D
E Y N
M H W
G E S
E P
E B
E
K
S
K
S
0
We didn't need to look further than M e s. Nor would the Germans. message
begins, message ends, message indecipherable, were part of
the standard litany at the poem-code's funeral service. The orisons were:
Top message: SOE
Bottom message: MESSAGE
The principal mourners may approach the grave and scatter handfuls
of sage. Letters above sage (printed downwards for convenience):
0 N L S
E A D S
H N E
F C
E 0
E M
E
The 'end' was nigh.
52
I needed one more guess from him. I pointed to the last letter in
the e column of sage: the letter m.
'That m comes immediately after the word end. So what word is
it likely to be the start of ?'
'Marks, I should think. I can't believe you haven't signed it.'
'It's the agent who has! They usually sign off in the same way, no
matter what we tell them. It starts with an m, sir . . .'
The word was message, and the letters beneath es sage completed
the internment.
Top message: S 0 E E N D M E S SAGE
Bottom message: MES SAGESEEINS
D P P A I D
N E E I N
W M M N W
S G G S
PEE P
BEE B
E E
K K
S S
0 0
The messages now shared a common grave.
Top message: SOE ENDMESSAGE
Bottom message: MES SAG EBEGINS
A few seconds later we had the full texts of both messages:
Top message: COLONEL OZEANNES SIGNALS ARE THE NERVE
CENTRES OF SOE END MESSAGE.
Bottom message: THIS COULDN'T HAPPEN IF AGENTS USED
WORKED OUT KEYS MESSAGE ENDS.
53
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
They appeared on the blackboard like this:
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.11.12.13.14.15.16.17.18.19.
Top message: COLONEL/OZEANNES/S IGN
Bottom message: TH I S/COULDNT/HAP P EN/I F/
20.21.22.23.24.25.26.27.28.29.30.31.32.33.34.35.
Top message (cont.): ALS/ARE/THE/NERVE/CE
Bottom message (cont.): AGENT S/U S ED/WORKED/
36.37.38.39.40.41.42.43.44.45.46.47.48.49.50.51.
Top message (cont.): NTRES/OF/SOE/END/ME S
Bottom message (cont.): OUT/KEYS/MES SAGE/BE
52.53.54.55.
Top message (cont.): S A G E/
Bottom message (cont.): G I N S/
Ozanne smiled, clearly believing that the demonstration was over.
I had some bad news for him.
A code isn't broken merely because an individual message is. We
had now to establish the words of the poem. Only then would we
have broken the code itself. That was why every pair of letters had
been given a number, though Ozanne hadn't once asked me their
purpose. It was time to enlighten him.
To keep the mathematics of anagramming down to the level of my
mother's housekeeping, I wrote up the first fifteen pairs of letters of
each message and drew the last shards of his attention to them:
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.
Top message: COLONELOZEANNE S
Bottom message: THI SCOULDNTHAPP
I now invited him to join me in a game of cryptographic hide and
seek. Each of these pairs of letters would be found lurking amongst
the code-groups:
t| c • C , Colonel . . . ,
The first pair _ or _, . was number 1 in the code-groups.
T Thiscou
But the second pair was number 23 in the code-groups.
H
54
Pair 3 was number 39 in the code-groups.
Pair 4 was number 11 in the code-groups.
N
Pair 5 was number 52 in the code-groups.
Pair 6 ,,was number 54 in the code-groups.
Pair 7 ,,was number 43 in the code-groups.
Pair 8 was number 12 in the code-groups.
Pair 9 was number 41 in the code-groups.
E
Pair 10 was number 18 in the code-groups.
N
A
Pair 11 was number 49 in the code-groups.
N
Pair 12 was number 2 in the code-groups.
H
N
Pair 13 was number 14 in the code-groups.
A
Pair 14 was number 30 in the code-groups.
Pair 15 was number 7 in the code-groups.
The remaining pairs of letters, numbers 16 to 55, had also changed
their positions. If we could discover the process which had caused
these changes, the game of hide and seek would be finished and
the life of the code over, because we would be in possession of the
transposition-key on which both messages had been encoded.
The mathematics involved would be basic but fiddling and I asked
Ozanne which he would prefer: to see the process for himself or
accept my word that within a very short time we could mathematically
reconstruct the entire transposition-key on which both messages had
been encoded.
My word was instantly accepted.
I wrote the transposition-key on the blackboard:
1.16.17.23.11.13.19.9.22.4.21.14.10.12.24.2.20.6.5.7.3.26.25.15.8.27.18.
55
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I told Ozanne that it would take the coders of Grendon twenty
minutes or so to convert those figures into the original words from
which they came. Did he wish to see the process for himself? Or
would he accept my assurance?
He accepted it.
George Washington Marks wrote the code-phrase 'all things
bright and beautiful' on the blackboard:
ALLTHINGS BRIGHTANDBEAUTIFUL
1.16.17.23.11.13.19.9.22.4.21.14.10.12.24.2.20.7. 5. 6. 3.26.25.15.8.27.18.
I suggested that German cryptographers might know the words too
and that they would now be able to read the rest of the agent's traffic
at will.
'You have five more minutes,' he said, 'in which to come to the
point.'
It was there on the blackboard, glaring at him. He hadn't bothered
to ask what 'worked-out keys' were. He probably thought they were
iron-based laxatives. He wouldn't need one by the time I'd finished.
I pointed out the overwhelming advantages of a code which could
be destroyed message by message, which could not be remembered,
which could not be tortured out of an agent, which would allow him
to get off the air in half the time it took him at present, which could
easily be camouflaged because it would be printed on silk, which
would put a stop to the blackboard follies we had just indulged in,
and which would be the start of a programme to change the entire
face of agents' coding. I then shoved a sample of a WOK at him like
a door-to-door salesman and showed him how to use it.
His expression conveyed what he was considering using it for. Even
his blackheads seemed to underline in porous italics his silent rejection
of everything I'd said. I shaped my wares to suit Ozanne the expansionist
and I told him that the Signals directorate would need fifty
girls to produce WOKs by hand and another dozen to check their
work. The keys would then have to be printed on silk and subsequently
camouflaged. Perhaps the colonel would consider starting
his own printing and camouflage sections? We would also need teams
of girls at the briefing end of the assembly line to keep every agent
56
ractising his WOK ('use it and destroy it, use it and destroy it') gbt up to the moment that he left for the field. We must also make
(©vision for some mistakes of our own and would need a small team
6girls to monitor them.
i*Very interesting,' he said, 'for a number of reasons.' He told me
tat any idiot could stand in front of a blackboard and break a
icssage he'd composed himself. As far as he was aware, the Germans
ere not in that happy position. Nor was there any evidence that
OE's traffic was being intercepted, let alone broken. Furthermore,
had grossly exaggerated the poem-code's insecurity. Properly used, Iwas perfectly suitable for SOE's purposes. Moreover, after con- lerable discussion with experts in such matters he was firmly conttced
that an agent's code should be carried in his head and any
(ggestion to the contrary was dangerous nonsense.
j|He added that my idea of a WOK-thing or whatever I called it
lls unpractical, preposterous and he hadn't heard the like of it. Nor
|s he prepared to hear the like of it again, least of all from me.
Itat you need is a dose of the army.'
He didn't actually call me a shirker but asked why the chosen
opie were so reluctant to get into uniform. I replied that being a
Itober of the chosen people was a uniform but we did not depend
|i6ur promotion on the Army Council.
| knew by now that I'd wrecked the WOK campaign and ruined
Efer's chances of reviving it. I'd also blown my cover with Ozanne, kwith nothing to lose I attacked that shuttered mind with the only
I left to me.
ptold him that I would write to CD stating in full my reasons for
ning. With this letter I would enclose a detailed report on agents'
s. Since much of the report would be technical, I summarized nchier contents. Part One would demonstrate the effect of a
graphic attack on a cross-section of SOE's traffic. The attack . be based on the assumption that agents' messages had not yet
ie important enough to the enemy to warrant a full-scale attack
ir top cryptographers. Part Two would show the same cross1
of messages being attacked 'with absolute priority'. Part Three
1 set out the reasons why such a blanket attack was inevitable,
adn't already begun. Traffic such as Torch (I refrained from
57
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
mentioning Grouse) could provide the enemy with a microcosm of
the whole war effort and a breakthrough would have repercussions
far beyond the confines of SOE. Part Four would be devoted entirely
to security checks and the total inadequacy of the present system. The fifth and final part would deal with the archaic misthinking
behind the poem-code and the new concepts which should immediately
replace it. I undertook to send one copy of the report to CD
and another to the War Office in case there was someone in their Signals directorate technically capable of understanding it.
Ozanne had a smile like a wartime hors d'oeuvre: small, confected
and promising far worse to come. He produced a trayful of it. He
informed me very quietly indeed that people did not resign from SOE;
they were dismissed. He then telephoned his secretary and dictated
a memo addressed to DYC/M (my symbol) from MS (his). The memo
instructed me to prepare a detailed report on agents' codes which I
was to deliver to MS personally within seven days. Under no circumstances
was I to show this report to anyone at all or discuss its
contents without his written consent. He ordered me to wait while
the memo was typed and to sign an acknowledgement of it on my
way out.
That memo was Ozanne at his tactical best. He had commanded
the report, made it his own and could consider it in his own time.
Above all, he had pre-empted its distribution.
It was good thinking because on the barren mountain of SOE's
ethics there was one unforgivable sin. It was probably the oldest on
record. The sin of being caught disobeying a superior's orders. The
penalty was instant dismissal or permanent retention, whichever was
the heavier.
I had tried a fool's mate on a grand master. But at least I could
replace the pieces in the box with a hint of dignity.
Ozanne had flicked seven days' grace at me to complete my report.
I didn't need seven days. Or even seven seconds. I'd written it the
night before and had it with me in my pocket.
I pulled it out and served it on him personally, as instructed. He
put it beneath the pile of unread signals. He then told me to find a
duster and clear all the rubbish off the blackboard.
I was looking for an excuse to return to the blackboard. I rubbed
58
out all the letters except for twelve. I dusted these precious letters
lightly so that they stayed on the blackboard as a memento of my
visit. They spelled a most unusual word. Ozanne wouldn't understand
its meaning unless his real name was Ozeannavitch. But 'the chosen',
if there were any others in SOE, would recognize it at once.
Just as 'merde alors' was the ultimate SOE benediction, this twelveletter
word was the ultimate Hebrew curse: Mother wished it to Hitler
on his birthday; Disraeli may have wished it to Gladstone; my father
wished it to tax inspectors, provided they weren't in the craft.
Its twelve deadly letters were positioned at numbers 55.4.6.
10.15.22.3.7.45.21.2.24. in the code-groups.*
„ I turned round to find Ozanne watching me. He told me I was to
continue my normal duties until I heard from him again.
? Part of those duties would be to continue spelling his name with
;an 'e' too many.
Hurrying to the door, I couldn't resist taking what was likely to be
|ttiy last look at him. He was staring at the blackboard with mounting
•interest.
^ Perhaps his name was Ozeanneavitch after all...
'; * Warning from the author. The curse should be used only in emergencies, and in the
IjJinds of the inexperienced has been known to backfire.
59
SIX
The Fifth Grouse
Every agent was given the opportunity of carrying a cyanide pill as
an optional extra. Some refused the facility on moral or religious
grounds, but the majority regarded it as forward planning and a
lethal tablet was as much a part of an agent's survival kit as the
poem-code, which so often contributed to its use. I didn't envy the
country section officers who had to issue the poison:
'By the way, old man, here's your L-tablet. Not that you'll need
it, of course, but you might just as well keep it handy. In your tie
perhaps? Oh, I've a little tip for you. Don't go confusing it with your
booster tablets, there's a good lad.'
It took the good lads (and lassies) a good minute to die, though
SOE's technicians were doing their best to improve the facility.
I was about to meet four exceptionally good lads who'd be lucky
if they had the chance to use L-tablets. Blowing up a heavy-water
plant was a full-time job. They were now waiting in Chiltern Court
for what was likely to be our only session.
I wanted to give these Grouse agents one-to-one briefings but Wilson
had warned me that they always turned up together no matter
what the arrangements. 'What difference does it make, anyway?' he
asked. 'There are only four of them.'
And they were only going to carry one corner of the free world in
each of their knapsacks, but Wilson didn't know that I'd found out
what their mission was, and I had to be careful not to think about
it at the briefing. An agent's inner ear could pick up anxieties more
quickly than instructions. Agents also had a flair for infecting one
another. I'd twice known sadness to be wafted round a briefing room
as if someone were smoking it.
60
A good briefing officer knew how to insulate himself against his
pupils, if only with ignorance - and he'd arrive at Chiltern Court
untroubled by the cost to the Allies if Operation Grouse failed, and the cost to the inseparables if it succeeded. A good briefing officer
would confront the Grouse with his own togetherness, service their
needs with the detachment of a maintenance man, and be in awe of
nothing but his own limitations. And at three minutes to coding
countdown, even the shell of a briefing officer would make himself
believe that the poem-code was the best damn code there is.
I said it aloud: 'The poem-code is the best damn -' Chiltern Court was only a sandbag away. A maintenance man
mustn't keep his customers waiting.
The Norwegian section's flat was less impersonal than most, and it
was just possible to believe that it had once been lived in.
; Colonel Wilson was not only waiting in the hall, he actually said
hello to me instead of his customary, 'You again.' When he escorted
itte to the briefing room his comments were even less in character:
'My lads are completely at your disposal. See them as often as you consider necessary. Once a day if you like. Arrange it through me.' ^ Such generosity could only mean that Operation Grouse had again
.been postponed because of weather and that, as his lads had nothing
Ibetter to do, they might as well practise their coding.
*y.'''I don't expect them to send much traffic,' he said casually, 'but |?hat they do send may be pretty important. I don't want one inde'pherable!
Not one. Even if I have to send you in with 'em.' He
ished me into the briefing room and walked off chuckling.
Messrs Poulson, Helberg, Kjelstrup and Haugland sprang to atten>n
as one Grouse and remained sprung until I'd carried my impedienta to the briefing officer's desk. I'd brought a special prop with e to give me some confidence. It was a self-important briefcase Itfaich I'd purloined from the stationery department and nicknamed Wanne. The tools of my trade were inside its gullet: some practice perns for the Grouse, some squared paper and a copy of Marks & lo.'s latest catalogue.
^tf a briefing officer had any special talent, he should demonstrate
|in the first five minutes. Afterwards he might have lost his audience.
61
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
My special talent was distributing squared paper. The one obstacle
in the way of my proving it was a briefcase named Ozanne. I'd
forgotten the combination of the secret lock and was in no position
to consult the stationery department. Growing sallower by the
moment, I twiddled, reasoned and wrestled with it but my repository
was closed for the duration.
'We could perhaps be of some helping?' enquired Poulson, the
leader of the quartet.
I ceded the problem to them, hoping they'd think it was an aptitude
test. They solved it inside a minute, then sat back to await the next
conundrum.
They'd done no coding for six weeks and it was essential to establish
how much they remembered and whether they were as accidentprone
as their briefing officer. I'd devised a hard time for them which
fell into three parts: exercise, checking and briefing officer's summary.
I handed them some squared paper and a poem apiece and asked
each of them to encode an improvised message in Norwegian and
English at least 250 letters long as quickly as they could. They started
work as if they expected nothing less.
The agents were now in an exam situation and for the next thirty
to fifty minutes I was redundant.
All briefing officers shared the problem of how best to pass the
time while surreptitiously monitoring the progress of their pupils.
Some prepared for their next briefings, others began reports on their
last. I wrote poems for the agents, and since I did so strictly from
Signals necessity, and my readership consisted of agents, coders and
enemy cryptographers, I had no writer's block. I had not foreseen
that in the presence of a courteous quartet dedicated to saving us
from an atomic New Year I would be rendered wordless, wingless
and grounded.
I gave up trying to swell the contents of the agents' ditty-box and
turned for inspiration to Father's catalogue, Marks & Co.'s equivalent
of a WOK. He was offering a first edition of Burton's Anatomy
of Melancholy at a price which would have cheered its author, and
a set of Gould's Birds of Europe in crushed levant at a few hundred
a crush. The choicest item of all - a seventh-century illuminated
bestiary - had been given an entire page to itself despite the national
62
paper shortage. Those most likely to prevent the beast Goering from
^acquiring it were far too engrossed in their coding to know that their
i maintenance man was watching them.
? It was like studying a compendium of sabotage talents. Haugland
was the wireless operator. His WT instructor, who was convinced that
praise was synonymous with careless talk, had said of him, 'He's the
' best man I've ever trained. He should be teaching me.' Helberg was an
expert at silent killing. Poulson and Kjelstrup could map-read without
; maps. For months they'd all been on toughening-up courses which I
^wouldn't even wish on our director of Signals. The rigours of coding
Imight well be a bore to them but could scarcely be a hardship.
|$f I realized too late that all four had begun to slow down as if they'd
l&een caught at the same traffic light. Worse still, they were looking
(cross the room at me as if I were the improvised message they were
opposed to be working on.
"Improbable though it seemed that the Grouse could be put off by
I'mouse-glare, that's what had happened. It always did when agents
Stught me monitoring them but I'd hoped that just this once I'd
^ able to mount a benevolent surveillance without inducing the
Bdecipherables I was there to prevent.
I'First the briefcase, and now this. What mistake was I going to
Bake next?
1-1 picked up my pencil. It felt like a spade; and a poem for the
|tty-box dug itself out of me:
Have you never known
A glass-bottomed day
When your minutes can be seen
Flowing beneath you
In every direction
But the one you mean?
Have you never known
A winterproof night
When wrong feels right
When the heart's chill
Is a matter of will
63
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
And mother's pride
Is safe inside
An envelope of ice
And doesn't even hear
A cock crow thrice?
Whichever agent used this as his poem-code (it was ultimately Bodington)
would be told to spell glass-bottomed as two words. If he were
caught, he could try spelling it as one. Until WOKs were introduced.
One of the Grouse coughed - a snippet of sound which broke
through every defence I had.
I made the greatest mistake a briefing officer can. I thought about
their mission instead of their coding: 'How bloody how,' I wondered,
'were the five of us going to drop into the middle of Hardanger Vidda,
with no reception committee to guide us down, where visibility was
nil because the fog was as thick as General de Gaulle's pr--, and
where hundreds of precipices waited to impale us?' And if the four
of them did survive the drop (the fifth Grouse hadn't survived the
thought of it) then how bloody how could they survive what followed?
How could they drag explosives and containers across minefields
of ice till they reached the Barren Mountain and somehow
contacted Einar Skinnarland and somehow crossed the guarded
bridge at Vermok and somehow blew the plant up and themselves
with it, after sending us an indecipherable to remember them by?
The how bloody hows of the future were replaced by a most
immediate why:
Why was Knut Haugland still numbering his key-phrase while the
others were a quarter way through their first transpositions? Nothing
in Haugland's report had indicated that he was a slow coder.
I finally realized that I was a slow observer. Haugland wasn't using
squared paper! He was encoding his message on a plain sheet of
paper which he was carefully ruling for himself. He wasn't even using
a ruler. He was drawing the lines against the edge of a pencil. I
realized why. There were no stationery shops on the Barren Mountain
and Haugland was 'coding for real'. Nobody, least of all me, had
prompted him to do this. I wrote a memo on Father's catalogue, next
to an offer to make valuations for probate, instructing the training
64
THE FIFTH GROUSE
hools that in future all agents must practise their coding on plain
iper without rulers. I then continued to watch my instructor at
ork. He'd almost caught up with the other three but it was his
yie which impressed me even more than his speed. He attacked his
>de-groups as if each letter he disposed of were a limb on a sentry
: Vermok. It was a formidable display of silent code-killing.
I won a flicker of surprise from them when I collected their poems
id messages and distributed Helberg's to Poulson, Poulson's to
'augland, Haugland's to Kjelstrup and Kjelstrup's to Helberg, and
>ked them to decipher each other's traffic.
The sharp adjustment from one coding process to another usually
lused agents to make their worst mistakes. Encoding and decoding
ere not the Signals equivalent of breathing out and breathing in and
w FANYs and even fewer agents were equally good at both. At
ast one Grouse might find himself limping.
The atmosphere was suddenly as full of unspoken frustration as
•oup therapy in the hands of an amateur. This was the time when
)ding character was shaped. In the next few minutes all the agents
ere likely to display habits or weaknesses which would be an invalu5le
help in our long struggle against their field indecipherables. But
would be the worst possible time to be caught monitoring them.
;I gave up the luxury of watching and tried to make do with another
nse, one with which only children like myself are especially familiar:
listened to the sounds of a pencil breaking, of a rubber being used
»th venom (I'd check up afterwards to see who'd erased what), of
iulson saying something sharply in Norwegian, and of the others
Ughing. He'd used an expletive which Wilson uttered whenever I
feed him to write poems for his agents, a chore which he had so
ar declined.
(According to my stop-watch, which I'd managed to set without
Vf assistance of the Grouse, they were five minutes ahead of average
tearing time. That was good. And the only sound now was of
Iteils claiming paper and that was good too. But it sounded more
It three pencils than four. I glanced up to see which Grouse had
!*en by the coding wayside.
jJKjelstrup was showing all the symptoms of coding paralysis. PerKthe
fault lay with Haugland, whose message he was decoding.
65
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
Perhaps Haugland wasn't as good as I thought. I wanted to say, 'Go
back to the beginning if you've lost your way. It's quicker in the end.'
But Kjelstrup had to find his own way back.
An organ-grinder struck up a tune in the street outside. None of
them seemed to hear it. There is a special loneliness in unshared
music, even if it was 'The White Cliffs of Dover'. I reached for my
pencil.
Kjelstrup glanced reproachfully in my direction as if I were personally
responsible for his ordeal and was leaving him to flounder.
I know what loneliness is, old chap:
I danced two waltzes
One fox-trot
And the polka
With no partner
That they could see
And hope I did not tire you.
I glided round
The other ballroom
The one called life
Just as alone
And have to thank you
For giving me
The sprinkling of moments
Which are my place at table
In a winner's world.
Keep a space for me
On your card
If you are dancing still.
Whichever agent used this as his poem-code (it was ultimately Peter
Churchill) would be told to spell fox-trot as one word. If he were
caught, he could try spelling it as two. Until WOKs, etcetera . ..
Glancing again at the clock I saw that Kjelstrup had a long way
to go but that the others had completely finished. What happened
66
THE FIFTH GROUSE
ext was so surprising that I found myself breathing backwards.
Without a word being spoken or a look being exchanged Poulson,
felberg and Haugland pretended that they were still dividing their
lessages into groups of five. It was as if they'd reached an agreement
l silent Morse to give Kjelstrup a chance to catch up with them. It
fas a gala performance designed to ensure that if I reported one of
bem to Wilson for slow coding I would also have to report the rest.
I allowed Poulson to catch me watching him. He sighed as he
ssumed his labours, and the others sighed with him. I envied their
agetherness almost as much as I marvelled at their shorthand.
The fingers of feeling
Be they gloved by the shy
r Or pointed bare and bold
- By the shyer still
Seek to find
' By fumbling or by fate
Another hand to clutch . . .*
left it at that, not only because it contained the mandatory minimum
f twenty-six words but because it had left me. When I looked up
tey had finished.
' I collected their poems and messages and spread them in front of
ie for checking. I hoped there'd be no failures. If there were, I
touldn't tell Wilson. Their failure would be mine and there would
fe time to put it right.
^I made several errors myself in the next few minutes and wished
tey'd stop watching me. But it soon became a square-papered world
fad some twenty minutes later I knew the Grouse the only way I
?as supposed to. With one exception, they were first-class coders:
laugland wasn't first class. He was in a class of his own.
?The others had made a few minor mistakes and were merely terrific.
|Haugland's case there wasn't a single letter wrong or a coding hair
Bt of place - but it wasn't his accuracy which won me for life.
|e*d elected to encode a message 350 letters long instead of the 250
Ultimately used as a reserve code by an American wireless operator.
67
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
minimum which the others had accepted. It was those extra letters,
his golden century, which had delayed Kjelstrup. Haugland had performed
another coding miracle. Unlike most agents he'd chosen the
five longest words in his poem instead of the five shortest.
Haugland's work was an illuminated manuscript. Haugland himself
was even rarer. He was a coder's man.
Careful not to single anyone out, I congratulated them on their
exercises and spared them the usual summary. All they needed was
a few basic tips.
I stood up to give them, hoping they'd carry more weight: 'Free
your language, vary your transposition-keys, don't fall into set patterns.
Code as if you're making love.'
The latter slipped out. The Grouse's inner and outer ears pricked
up. They listened to the rest of what I had to tell them as if I were
delivering a bulletin and they were starved of coding news. Their
attention was so riveting that I was the captive audience and forgot
that I had an appointment with the Free French in ten minutes' time.
I declared the Grouse season closed for the day. They stood to
attention and thanked me for arriving to them.
I thanked them for opening my briefcase.
One of them held open the door for the fifth Grouse to leave.
The next time he arrived to them he hoped to give them a safe
code instead of a snare.
68
SEVEN
SOE-minded
"he RF section, our de Gaulle connection, occupied a house in Dorset
quare which had formerly belonged to the directors of Bertram Mills Srcus. This inspired continuity was one of SOE's favourite in-jokes, trough it was no joke having to visit RF section, the most troubled fad troublesome in the whole of SOE.
A new director of RF had just been appointed. His name was wlonel Hutchison and he'd been brought in at short notice in the
ope that, as Tommy put it, 'he'd have the balls for the job'.
It took me five minutes to reach 1 Dorset Square from Sliltern Court and I was still too immersed in Norwegian waters to
djust so rapidly to a change of briny. I entered the house like a
eluctant ringmaster to put the Free French through the hoops of
Sxeir coding.
iThere would be no free flow between us. The agents were under trict orders from Duke Street not to discuss the secret French code
rith me and I was under strict orders from myself not to tell them
5 use it as seldom as possible. It would have been easier for all of
6 if I'd been able to brief them individually but they usually turned
jp in clusters of six, and today I was expecting eight.
1*1 reminded myself at the door of the briefing room that the secret
tench code was the best damn code there wasn't. 'The secret French
(«fe is the best damn '
iSle briefing room was empty - as empty, that is, as any room can
|Cwhich has a poster of de Gaulle in it. His eyes seemed to be reading
||' private traffic.
tie Free French were punctilious about their appointments and I
dered what had happened to my missing eight. I waited fifteen
69
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
minutes, could produce nothing for the agents' ditty-box, and prepared
to leave.
A hare of a colonel bounded into the room and sat down beside
me. He introduced himself as Colonel Hutchison and started speaking
French as if he'd invented it. If I interpreted his every other sentence
correctly, he'd introduced a rule that everyone on the premises must
speak only French. He also recommended that they thought in French.
He relaxed his principles when he heard my accent. He had cancelled
the agents' briefings in order to be briefed himself.
I asked if he wanted me to teach him to code.
'Good God, no,' he said. 'I'll set ten minutes aside for that some
other time. I just want to discuss a point or two with you. Now,
Marks, tell me what you know about the secret French code.'
I thought in French, Get me out of here, mon Dieu, and I won't
eat bacon for a fortnight. This was the most dangerous question I'd
yet been asked in SOE.
'The secret French code?' I echoed. 'I'm afraid I'm in no position
to tell you anything about it.'
'Why not? Why all this secrecy? Tell me what you do know.'
I gave him a potted history of the code without specifying which
pot it should be consigned to.
'Yes, yes,' he said impatiently, 'but what actually happens when
they want to pass one?'
I presumed he meant a message in secret French code and described
the mechanics of distribution as SOE believed them to be.
'So my directorate is just a clearinghouse?'
I'd heard Tommy describe it as another kind of house, but nodded.
'Good. Tommy told me you were the man I should talk to!'
Thanks, Tommy.
'Now then. Who's your opposite number in Duke Street? And what
can you tell me about him?'
I had no idea where this was leading, apart from the guillotine. I
told him that my opposite number's name was Druot, that we'd met
once, spoken twice and that he was brilliant at forged currency, forged
documents and photography.
'What about codes?'
'I understand they're one of his many commitments.'
70
The hare-turned-ferret may have smiled. I could certainly see his
moustache more clearly. 'Tell me. How do you contact this Druot?
Through RF or directly?'
'Directly, when I can. Through Tommy if it's urgent.'
'Ah yes,' he said. 'Tommy.' There was a distinct frown in his voice
and I wondered if he'd had any trouble from the Chairman of the
Awkward Squad.
'I want to go back to that secret code. Why '
The phone rang. He answered at once and I listened to the most
informative conversation I had yet heard in the RF directorate. 'Right,
right, right, right, right, right away.'
He bounded up - 'I have to see the director of Operations. But you and I will talk again! Very soon.' - and bounded out!
The length and line of his questions promised well for his directorate
but badly for me. Given a little time, he was bound to notice that
some incoming messages in secret French code weren't being delivered to Duke Street as promptly as they should have been, and he'd demand an explanation from Ozanne.
,«; A phone call from Dansey - very rare when I was at a brief^ing
session - instructed me to return to the office as quickly as I
|could.
| It was equally rare for him to slam down the receiver.
i..'
|Major offences in SOE - such as leakages to C, which were considered pimost as treasonable as leakages to the enemy - were dealt with by
|fce Executive Council. Minor offences, such as being right, were
pisciplined by the directorate in which they occurred.
t, Heffer, Dansey and Owen were waiting for me in Dansey's office. Teffer had just had a meeting with Ozanne and informed me with
o apparent regret that the Signals directorate and I were soon to art company. I was not going to be sacked for technical incompet- tee ('That can sometimes backfire,' said Heffer) but on the far
l^adlier grounds of 'temperamental unsuitability for SOE-type
JPrk.
jl Thanks to Heffer, it was a suspended sentence. He'd persuaded
panne that a stay of execution would give him and Dansey time to ^>k for a suitable replacement; Heffer had even suggested that the
71
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
shock might produce a marked improvement in me. 'Start looking
today!' Ozanne had instructed. The reprieve was subject to one condition.
If I showed my coding report to anyone, I was to be dismissed
forthwith.
On the issue of WOKs Ozanne remained inflexible. They would
leave when I did.
I suggested whoever succeeded me should come from Bletchley and
have the experience which I knew I lacked.
They glanced at each other. Then Heffer announced that he had
something to say to me on behalf of them all: 'Now and again you've
shown a certain promise. But your greatest failing amongst a host of
others is that you are not - and are now most unlikely ever to become'
- I expected him to say 'adult' - 'SOE-minded.'
I knew that I had just heard the most important phrase anyone
had ever spoken to me - with the possible exception of 'help yourself.
I also knew that for the rest of my SOE life, however short, I would
go in search of 'SOE-mindedness'. It was the vitamin deficiency I
didn't know I lacked.
Eagerly, gratefully, I asked what it meant. Each waited for the
other to define it.
'It's a state of disgrace which you must discover for yourself.'
Heffer.
'If he's here long enough.' Dansey.
'Which I doubt.' Owen.
I realized that it meant something different to each of them, a sign
of its reality. I asked whom they considered to be 'SOE-minded',
present company excepted, of course.
Each waited for the other to commit himself. Nobody would.
I suggested some candidates.
'Hambro?'
'If he can forget he's a gentleman.' Heffer.
'Gubbins?'
'If he can forget he's a soldier.' Dansey.
'Tommy?'
'If he can forget the Free French.' Owen.
'Colonel Ozanne?'
'I prefer to forget him altogether.' Heffer.
72
He then rose by inches from his chair. 'It wasn't very SOE-minded of you to leave that word on the blackboard.' he said.
He waited for my mouth to reach half-mast. 'Before you took for
granted Ozanne wouldn't know what it meant you should have found
out where he played golf on Sundays.'
He told me the name of the club - and all was clear. I'd walked the
course with Father and knew that the eighteenth hole was circumcision.
'Heff... you mean he went to the trouble of anagramming it out?'
'No,' he said, 'but I did.'
He enjoyed his exit lines almost as much as he did his exits.
: 'SIN' ('SOE-mindedness', not sado-masochism, though they might be
synonymous) was a cruel dish to set before a starving man. It might
explain why SOE was sending missions to Mihailovic and Tito in Yugoslavia when the two leaders were virtually at civil war, why we
i were backing Communists and anti-Communists in Greece, why there
was so little co-operation between the rival French sections that their
'agents had shot each other up in the dark after mistaking each other
for Germans, and why the Dutch weren't concerned about incorrect s security checks. It might even explain what a man like Ozanne was s doing in SOE.
i'. I wondered how to apply 'SIN' to the Signals Gauleiter, and decided
| to make a start by taking his orders literally. Since Ozanne insisted (that agents should have poem-codes, I would give them poem-codes
i?'1- not one but dozens! Clusters of poems printed on soluble paper tcould be issued to each agent. They would be instructed by London
|(o, switch from one poem to another at the first sign of their traffic P^ecoming overloaded. Nor must they attempt to memorize the poems.
gSB'hey must be destroyed as soon as they were finished with. I checked
|'With the stationery department that the printing was within their j^ompetence and they foresaw no problems. I would make a start with Ac Grouse. The principle could then be applied to other agents and
Nnce it conformed strictly with Ozanne's coding convictions, I would |»0t waste his time by mentioning it to him.
fe The concept was in every way the WOK's poor relation but it was istart. If this were a form of 'SIN', it didn't hurt at all.
» » a.
73
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Expecting my successor at any moment, I settled down to what might
be my last indecipherable from Bodington, which was based (of
course) on a piece by Poe.
He'd returned from the field since using 'The Raven', had gone
back to France with Peter Churchill - and his latest Poe choice was
'Annabel Lee':
I was a child and she was a child
In this kingdom by the sea
But we loved with a love that was more than love
I and my Annabel Lee
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me
And neither the angels in heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee
I was determined to dissever Bodington's soul next time we met if
this indecipherable was as tough as his last.
The five words he'd chosen were: 'child', 'under', 'I', 'can', 'heaven'.
I knew that spelling was Bodington's weakness, possibly due to his
peacetime stint as Paris correspondent of the Daily Express - and
rapidly discovered that his version of heaven was 'heavaw', and hoped
he'd get to both one day.
I phoned Buckmaster to tell him the message was out. To my
astonishment he appeared in person a few minutes later. First Hutchison,
now Buckmaster - it was like meeting the stars of a play which
was still being written.
Buckmaster and I knew each other by sight and had shaken hands
on the telephone. I'd met him once at Chiltern Court under unfortunate
circumstances.
I'd been briefing a wireless operator named Alee Rabinovitch, a
vast young man of Russian-Egyptian origin who could (and did)
swear in four languages. We both knew at a glance that we shared
the Esperanto of being Jewish. From the way he clenched his huge
74
sts with the thumbs protecting his fingers, and from his ethnic backround,
I suspected that he'd done some boxing and, between exerises
(he was a good coder), taxed him with it. It was the end of the
oding session. I'd boxed for St Paul's in the days when self was the only thing worth protecting and we discovered a mutual admiration ?r the greatest boxer (and gentleman) our sport had yet produced, ae Louis. I was very disappointed that Rabinovitch knew that
,ouis's real name was Barrow. I thought only Joe and I did. My
upil and I then had a serious disagreement. He was convinced that
ie Brown Bomber's best punch was a short right to the head whereas
knew for positive fact that it was a left jab to the chin. To put it
eyond doubt, Rabinovitch swung his giant fist at my jaw and pulled
: up a microdot away just as Buckmaster walked in. Buckmaster
Kpressed the hope that Rabinovitch was here for coding practice nd not unarmed combat and asked to see him as soon as we'd dished.
Rabinovitch was now shadow-boxing in France with great success md at great risk) as the wireless operator for Peter Churchill's
pindle group. And here was Buckmaster, himself no stranger to
fteen-rounders with the RF section, looking at me thoughtfully. I ras used to being thoroughly towelled down in the ring between
Minds but not by blue eyes of such extraordinary penetration. il didn't begin to understand the politics he was obliged to play to Ompete with de Gaulle and had no desire to. But I'd noticed that
b matter how late I phoned to tell him that an indecipherable was token, he was always waiting in his office, and his first concern was
»r the safety of the agent. Not all country section directors shared lalt attitude. To some of them, agents in the field were heads to be Sainted, a tally they could show CD. But Maurice Buckmaster was rfeunily man.
: He thanked me for breaking Boddington's indecipherable but he'd (Beady done that on the telephone and Buckmaster never said anyBng
twice. RF complained that he never said anything once. I susBCted
he'd come for some other reason. Know reliable are our security checks?' he asked sharply. The was the first country section head to ask that question. It
|served to be answered with the same directness.
75
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
'They're no more than a gesture to give the agents confidence.' I
told him why in some detail.
'Can they ever be relied upon?'
I told him that if an agent was caught before he was sent any
messages he could get away with giving them the wrong security
check because they'd have no back traffic to compare it with. But
not otherwise.
'What's being done about it?'
'We're working on a wholly new concept of agents' codes.'
He nodded. He understood the battles to get anything changed in
SOE. 'Can't anything be done in the meantime?'
I told him that as long as the poem-code was in use there were
only two things the country sections could do: a) they should ask
their agents personal questions to which they alone would know the
answers, and b) they should use prearranged phrases in their messages
to which the agents must reply in a prearranged way. I warned him
that these phrases must be used only once in case the agent's traffic
was being read.
'We already do something of the sort. I'll make sure it's done on
a regular basis.'
'Colonel Buckmaster' - he'd just been promoted - 'is there anyone
in particular you're worried about?'
A microdot of hesitation. 'It was a general question. I'll consult
you if I am.'
I knew that part of Peter Churchill's and Bodington's mission was
to check up on the security of a circuit run by Carte (Andre Girard),
which was causing F section great concern. That night I went through
the back traffic of all the F section agents. It contained the usual
mixture of Morse mutilation, wrong checks, right checks, no checks.
If I were Buckmaster, I'd be worried about all of them and I was
convinced that he was.
I wondered why he and the Free French refused to pool their
anxieties.
It was time to say goodbye to the Grouse. They were on their final
standby and were to parachute into Norway no matter what the
weather.
76
SOE-MIHDED
I'd already phoned Wilson to discuss the clusters of poems on
soluble paper which I wanted to give them. His reply was explosive,
even by his standards: 'I've told you they'll be passing hardly any
traffic. They're to use the poems they've learned and nothing else. Is
that clear? Or do you want me to confirm it to Ozanne?'
. I told him that would not be necessary.
'Very well then. Just make certain they send no indecipherables.
Thank you.'
This time he wasn't waiting at Chiltern Court to greet me. Halfway
f down the corridor I could hear the Grouse laughing. They stopped
I; as soon as I entered the room. An only child worries more than most
g-about laughter stopping and I asked if I could share the joke. They
H showed me a poem in Norwegian and English contributed by Wilson.
Utt was untranslatable in both languages.
I" I took each of them to one side to discuss their security checks and
||un through their poems with them. The one thing the Grouse
fceouldn't share was their coding conventions.
II The session was only a formality but towards the end they produced
nother example of their silent Morse. A feeling more than a look seemed p pass between Poulson, Helberg and Kjelstrup. Poulson then said they iSd to leave to have some special skis fitted but Haugland asked if he
ould stay behind to talk to me - his skis had already been fitted.
' Since it was time to say goodbye to his companions and I didn't now the Norwegian for 'merde alors', I had to rely on my handshake
0 say it for me. From their slight looks of surprise the message was
|Ceived and understood.
M wondered what Haugland wanted to talk about. This extraordif man, as slender as the steel skis which he said had been fitted,
saw the time when he'd have to brief agents in the field on their ding - Norwegian patriots who hadn't his good fortune to be Ought to London for training. He wanted to make absolutely certain &t he'd absorbed everything I'd tried to teach him. I was to be (owed my one-to-one briefing after all.
(was sure that, if Haugland encoded a message as he jumped from
i aeroplane, he'd have double-checked it by the time he reached ad but I took him through the entire process from beginning to
77
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I was also sure that his need to see something new was almost as
great as mine to provide it so I opened my briefcase, which I'd had
the foresight not to lock, and produced a mocked-up version of a
WOK. He was only the second agent to have seen one (Tommy was
the first) and, with a great deal of practise, spread over a great many
years, I might conceivably handle a WOK half as well as Haugland
did.
He asked a little shyly when these 'worked-out codes keys' would
be ready, and I promised that it would be soon, and that they'd be
printed on silk. I knew then that somehow I was going to make it
happen. 'This would be very good code for us' he said quietly, and
listened patiently while I stressed the importance of destroying the
keys as soon as they'd been used.
He then spent another half an hour making sure he understood
the security checks.
We shook hands until we nearly exchanged them and I walked to
the door.
'Mr Marks . . .'
I turned back.
He made scissors of his fingers - and carefully went through the
motions of cutting his silk.
78
EIGHT
The Plumber and His Mate
u.
|4any of Baker Street's major crises occurred long after those Jteliipped to deal with them had gone home and it was a strictly kforced rule that everyone of officer status (including civilians) had I .be available at short notice to act as night duty officers. The only
ECCptions to this rule were members of the Executive Council, which ^ad not yet been invited to join.
; If an NDO were unfortunate enough to be given an entire building Book after, he had to sit in a minute office from six in the evening |i (right the next morning with a Top Secret list of private telephone ftmbers in front of him, a camp bed behind him and potential chaos
l&round him. In emergencies he had authority to contact anyone
16m CD downwards but it was tacitly agreed that anything short
ycalamity could wait until morning. The definition of calamity was Alter for the NDO. But his duties were not wholly sedentary.
$eorted by an armed escort, he had to inspect every office in the ding to ensure that the desks and safes were securely locked and 't all documents had been put away. He had also to retrieve any ips of paper left lying around which should have been disposed
(the confidential waste. He had strict orders to put these unburied Hires in a special satchel and deliver them to the security departC
when he handed in his report. All breaches of security, however 1, had to be specified in this report with the names of the culprits,
t»ective of rank.
Ispite my imminent dismissal, or perhaps because of it, I was ttwo days' notice to act as night duty officer for Michael House. ^an ominous prospect for the building and me.
» » »
79
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
My parents did not need an NDO for the subversive activities they
were in the habit of conducting from their Park West base. Every
night, including Sundays, they engaged in a series of clandestine operations
which were half black comedy and wholly black market, and
they conducted their drops and pick-ups with a security-mindedness
which outdid C's and SOE's combined.
Since my impossible pair were in the habit of boasting of their only
child's slightest achievement, I'd convinced them that I worked at the
Marylebone branch of the Ministry of Labour and National Service.
Anxious that I should stay there, they loaded me up every day with
enough illicit provisions to start a four-star hotel which I was ordered
to distribute to colleagues in need. Amongst those qualifying for relief
- and getting it - were the main-line coders, the coders of Grendon,
Dansey, Heffer and Owen, and a growing number of country section
officers who'd heard that the code department at teatime had a direct
line to the Almighty. I gave credit for the largesse to my revered Uncle
Simon, whose premises I was shortly going to safeguard.
I reported to the security department at precisely six o'clock for a
briefing on an NDO's duties. It proved to be an object lesson in
non-communication. The captain who instructed me was so full of
himself that I spent the entire session trying to determine the reason
for his self-esteem and failed to take in a single word of his instructions,
except for 'Any questions? Right. Get on with it.'
I'd been assured by Owen that my armed escort would 'know the
drill backwards' and would give me whatever guidance I needed. A
young corporal, fully equipped for a march on Berlin, was waiting
for me outside the NDO's office. An instruction seemed to be called
for. 'At ease?' I suggested.
He substituted one hostile stance for another and mounted guard
while I went into the NDO's office to assume control of my building.
The NDO's desk was so small, it was like keeping vigil on a
splinter. The camp bed creaked with the disturbed nights of my countless
predecessors. I put my lovingly wrapped dinner on it. The only
redeeming feature anywhere was a poster on the wall of Churchill,
the nation's NDO.
I phoned Grendon to see if there were any indecipherables. They'd
just broken one from Julien (Isidore Newman, one of Buckmaster's
80
best operators) after 1,100 attempts. I congratulated them, then identified
myself to the Michael House switchboard and announced that the NDO's patrol was about to begin.
'Have the rules changed, sir?' she asked. 'They don't usually start till twenty hundred hours.'
'My watch must be fast. Thank you.'
I wondered if I should ask the corporal to come in and sit down
; but was uncomfortable in the presence of his artillery.
The phone rang. It was someone anxious to warn me that Hitler had just been seen parachuting in the direction of Baker Street. I
I thanked Tommy for the information and invited him to call in later for a cigar. He said he was going home early.
I believed that home to Tommy was a fair-haired WAAF called ^Barbara. I'd twice glimpsed them walking down Baker Street, which
they brightened considerably. He was trying to get her a job in Duke
IStreet and undoubtedly would. His own job prospects (the only one
l|ie wanted was in the field) were in the balance. His mission to France
findth Passy was still in the planning stage so Tommy had improvised lone of his own. Captain Molyneux (his former employer) kept a
|^»werful motor yacht in Monte Carlo and Tommy proposed to hijack
||lt, take it to Gibraltar, and hand it over to the navy, who badly
eded small craft of this class. Tommy was to be infiltrated by felucca
dropped in by Lysander. The mission had been officially sanctioned
SOE and welcomed by the navy. Tommy had been given the
le-name Sea-horse. I hoped he'd have better stables for the night
n I had.
gThe phone rang again. I answered it with relish:
|(,?This is an official announcement. If Hitler's been sighted in the
Ifegeby House bog he can bloody well stay there.'
|Unfortunately it wasn't Tommy this time. It was Hutchison with 'enquiry about one of his messages. I told him what he needed to w. that's Marks, isn't it?'
Iwas obliged to confirm that it was.
I'might look in and see you.'
oping to be out if he did, I picked up my NDO's satchel and aed command of my forces. 'Right, Corporal! Lead the way.'
81
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
He looked at me in bewilderment.
'What way, sir?'
'What do you mean "What way, sir"? Where do we start?'
'No idea, sir. I've never done this before, sir.'
I nearly fell over his sten-gun, if that's what it was, and requested
an explanation.
'I'm standing in for the sergeant, sir. He's hurt his foot, sir.'
'But surely he gave you some instructions.'
'Yes, sir. He said I'm here to protect you, sir. And you'd tell me
what to do, sir.'
'Of course,' I said. 'Quick march then.'
The plumber and his mate went walkabout in Michael House. I
knew nothing about the geography of the place and very little about
its natives. The third floor, I believed, was where merchant bankers
in profusion practised their daily diabolicals and I suspected that
members of the Executive Council weren't far away. I knew that
amongst the giants who had offices in my building were CD himself,
his deputy, Brigadier Gubbins, and his other right hand. Colonel
Sporborg - who was principal private secretary to SOE's minister,
Lord Selborne, on all matters concerned with SOE. It was rumoured
that between these two right hands CD could afford the luxury of
knowing what his left was doing.
I decided to start the paper-chase in the one office I did know and
halted the patrol outside the door of the narcissistic captain who'd
tried to brief me. There was no light on inside. 'Corporal, if I'm not
out in five minutes, come in shooting.'
Something clicked behind me. I couldn't get inside fast enough.
(Official procedure, subsequently discovered, was for the armed escort
to go in first, search behind the curtains and anywhere else intruders
might be lurking, and for the NDO then to enter.)
The captain's office had more scraps of paper in it than a royal
park. I put them gleefully into my NDO satchel. I wouldn't report
him, but first thing in the morning I'd paper his ego. The rest of the
security department's offices were almost as insecure. One officer had
left a blotter full of ink-marks on his desk. I removed it and made a
note to hold up a mirror to the culprit in the morning.
The next six offices I went into were all empty and I wondered if
82
it was early closing. One desk was full of rotten apples, a mirror-image
of its occupant? Another contained a personal letter which didn't
seem to be in code. (SOE used a code called Playfair for concealing
secret messages in innocent letters. It was an innocent's code, and
offered little more security than invisible ink when the right kind of
heat was applied).
One door at the end of a small ante-room had a light on inside.
Perhaps it had been left on by accident. I knocked.
'•Come.'
A brigadier and a colonel with an eye-patch sat side by side at a
desk. Gubbins and Sporborg. They glanced up from a document they
II were studying.
|i I was tempted to say that I'd looked in for a chat about the poemI
code. I announced myself instead. 'Night duty officer. Is this room
l&fixempt from inspection, sir?'
|y They stared at me. Gubbins's eyes made de Gaulle's seem placid.
|||Sporborg saw more from his single orb than most people with
|Wo.
b» Gubbins answered. 'The whole floor is exempt.'
I,;:;. 'Thank you, sir.'
; 'Start from the top and work downwards.'
y,The story of my career.
g& 'Thank you sir.'
|/,''Who are you?'
i|j'The night duty officer, sir.'
t(i had an instinct that I should withhold my name if I could get
|»ay with it. Gubbins gave Sporborg a look which said: 'Is this what
|e'Ve come down to?' and Sporborg smiled. They returned to their
twument.
RIThe intelligence in that room was like a vibro-massage and an iota
Hi^ieir combined brain-power seemed to have infected my corporal.
||?topped outside a door which I hadn't even noticed and put his
"^ers to his lips. 'There's something funny going on in there, sir.
|»e, but no lights.'
|60uldn't hear a sound but didn't want to discourage him and
'Us inside.
t»was wrong about the lights. There was a candle burning on
83
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
the desk and it flickered on to a pair of khaki trousers. But he was right about the sounds. They were coming from the far side of the
room where a major and his lady were locked together in what I
believed to be position number 69 in the sexual code-groups.
'Just checking the confidential waste,' I said, and left them to dispose
of their own.
I supposed I should report them for not locking the door. Was the
danger of official discovery more exciting than the prospect of
mutual? It was worthy of personal research.
Five minutes later I lost my escort. I searched up and down the
corridors but there wasn't a corporal in sight. Two minutes later I
lost myself. Like the major and his lady, I no longer knew what floor
I was on. I found myself outside Gubbins's office. I could hardly ask
him the way to the NDO's room.
An antelope of a colonel named Dodds-Parker strode down the
corridor and was kind enough to point me in the right direction which
turned out to be one of his specialities. He knocked on Gubbins's
door and went in. Dodds-Parker was deeply involved in Operation
Torch. From the demands that he was making for Signals
equipment and personnel, we knew that the invasion of Algiers was
imminent.
My long-lost corporal was waiting for me outside the NDO's office.
His complexion was the colour of his uniform. 'Very sorry, sir. I was
taken short.'
I knew how he felt. I was born short. I thanked him for his help,
but he continued standing there. I wondered if he'd been taken short
again. 'Dismiss?' I suggested tentatively.
He saluted, turned to go.
'By the way. Corporal, what was wrong with your sergeant's
foot?'
'He dropped his wife on it, sir.'
'Give them my regards.'
I went inside to face my night.
For the first half an hour there was nothing much to face. Just a
few routine calls which I did my best to answer. The atmosphere was
as cheerful as an interview room in an under-privileged police station.
I was doing my bit for the agents' ditty-box when a special messenger
84
brought in an envelope from the code department marked for CD
PERSONALLY.
I assumed it was my job to evaluate its contents and then telephone CD if I thought necessary. I opened it anyway. It contained a long
Situation Report 'for CD's eyes only' from the head of SOE's Cairo Station, Lord Glenconner. The Sitrep dealt with the latest developments
of Operation Bullseye, in which the Signals directorate had
a vested interest.
The purpose of Bullseye was to persuade Mihailovic to concentrate
I his Yugoslav guerrillas against the occupying German forces instead
i. of trying to kill his rival Tito, the leader of the Communist partisans.
ifeLike most of SOE's Balkans operations, Bullseye consisted of myriad
fepmplex details amounting to a horrific simplicity.
liss .The mission had been entrusted to a resourceful, highly experienced
||SOE officer named Hudson who'd been put ashore by submarine on he coast of Montenegro in 1941 with three Yugoslavs, one of them e wireless operator. Julian Amery took time off from his duties in fclgrade to act as conducting officer and report that the mission had laded safely.
^Hudson's first priority was to contact Mihailovic - which he
eentually did - and set up wireless communications between Bullseye id London and Bullseye and Cairo. This proved even more difficult. ^e poem-code had spread its disease to the Balkans but instead of
)em the Reader's Digest was used for Bullseye's traffic, presumably
ause someone had paid his subscription. The first message received
n Bullseye was indecipherable and remained so until it was disered
that Outstation and Home were using different editions of ^Header's Digest. The mistake was remedied by Cairo - one of
View that were.
;e SOE in London didn't yet have a wireless station it was 1 to rely on C's to transmit and receive agents' traffic (including
ye's). Unbeknown to Glenconner (and to everyone outside the
s directorate), two enterprising signals officers named Wing
aander Pyle and Captain Ward decided to check on C's effici|«
and they did so by erecting their own improvised monitoring
on the roof of Baker Street. They intercepted two Bullseye
which C had missed. In a rare spasm of co-operation, C
85
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
and SOE finally ensured that the right frequencies were used, the
right equipment issued and the same code employed by Home Station
and Out.
Glenconner's Sitrep was concerned with SOE's relationship with
Tito, which was about as stable as mine with Ozanne. Glenconner
was convinced that Tito was actively collaborating with the Germans
to bring about the capture and execution of Mihailovic and the disbandment
of his forces. He reminded CD of a previous Sitrep he had
sent and synopsized its astonishing contents:
The Germans had captured a group of Mihailovic's guerrillas with
the help (Glenconner believed) of information provided by Tito. They
had told the prisoners that they would all be shot unless they revealed
where Mihailovic and his Chief of Staff were hiding. One prisoner
jumped up and identified himself as Mihailovic, another jumped up
and said he was his Chief of Staff. Both men were shot. Mihailovic
and his Chief of Staff were hiding in the mountains.
Like the master diplomat he was, Glenconner had an eye for a
punch-line, even in a Sitrep. He stressed that General Donovan (the
head of OSS) was extremely concerned about the SOE-Tito relationship
and was prepared to meet CD in London to confirm that he totally endorsed Glenconner's reservations about Tito.
Anything of concern to the Americans was of even greater concern
to SOE. OSS had still not decided whether to do the bulk of its
growing European business with C or with us.
Glenconner ended by urging CD to clarify SOE's policies towards
Mihailovic and Tito and asked for an immediate reply.
I was reluctant to disturb CD in his bath but it occurred to me
that he might still be prowling the building. And that Gubbins and
Sporborg might still be in conference. And here was I, only a floor
away from them, taking no advantage of it. Why didn't I walk upstairs
with my coding report and face the consequences?
Because I hadn't the guts.
What would an 'SOE-minded' NDO do to get a document into
CD's hands as if by accident?
Suddenly I knew.
1 went back to my office and did it.
86
Not even SOE allowed NDOs to desert their sentry boxes without
good reason. I phoned the Norgeby House NDO and asked if he
would take all my calls for the next thirty minutes as an urgent
indecipherable had just come in.
'Have a drink on me,' he said.
I'd need one if my plan failed and several more if it succeeded. I
christened it 'Operation NDO'. It had one objective: to get my report
into the hands of CD no later than tomorrow without my appearing to know that he had it. Since I was forbidden by Ozanne to show it to him, I would have to rely upon the security department to act as my special messenger.
The first step in Operation NDO was to have my report read by the security department. I took a copy of it from its locked oasis and
garnished it with a tomato-red label, a coloration reserved for highly ' sensitive documents.
it The next step was to ensure that the security department became
| aware that a major security offence had been committed in the night.
|i I wrote in my NDO's report that in the course of my patrol duties j3. had discovered a Top Secret document, the contents of which I had
|not perused, in an unlocked drawer of a desk normally occupied, so
I understood upon enquiry, by Marks of Codes.
. My final act of self-immolation was to empty the NDO's satchel &f everyone else's scraps of paper and put my code report in their place.
; Security took every opportunity to bring its efficiency to the attention
of the All Highest, and would make the most of an offence of
»
Bus magnitude. Hopefully my report would be in CD's hands the allowing day. Technically, J would not have shown it to him. The
pcurity department would be responsible, and if Ozanne attempted
J> use my gross carelessness as grounds for instant dismissal, it would
cheap at the price. Before leaving SOE I would ask CD one ®stion: 'If a report on agents' codes was such a breach of security, >w much greater a breach was the continued use of them?'
phere was one major flaw in Operation NDO: the security depart- it might realize that the author of the report and the NDO who
nd it were one and the same person. But if they realized if after had read it, it would no longer matter.
87
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I took good care when signing the NDO's report that my signature
was as indecipherable as a Skinnarland message. Was there anything
I had overlooked? What about the NDO who inspected the code
department's premises? He was the one who should discover that
report on my desk.
I realized that he would cause me no more problems than he usually
did.
I was he.
The code department was always inspected by the Michael House
NDO - and then most cursorily. We were the only department in
SOE fully staffed at night and NDOs were never allowed to see the
work in progress.
There were probably plenty of flaws I hadn't spotted but it was
too late to worry about them. Operation NDO would be mounted
in the morning, no matter what.
I returned to the NDO's cubbyhole. The corporal was dozing in
a chair outside. I phoned my Norgeby House colleague.
He told me there hadn't been a single call for me. 'Nothing's happened
in Michael House tonight,' he said wistfully.
But I suspected that a great deal was going to happen tomorrow
- most of it to me.
88
NINE
The Godfather
y
>:The morning after my NDO experience I found an envelope
llddressed to 'Mr Marx' waiting on my desk. It contained a present leom Rabinovitch which he'd left at Chiltern Court before taking off
B» the field. It was a photograph of Joe Louis knocking out Max
Ifchmeling with a short left jab.
|sTen minutes later I was instructed by telephone to report immedittely
to the security department. I'd gladly have changed places with
Ijphmeling. I knew that the head of Security was a brilliancy of Gubpfts/Sporborg
calibre, and that he'd surrounded himself with a highly
srofessional staff, most of them barristers like himself or peacetime Intelligence officers. His secretary silently pointed to a nearby office, pd told me to go straight in.
pi opened the door - and had to lean against it for support.
ieated behind a desk was my godfather, Major O'Reilly of the ;cial Branch at Scotland Yard, who'd been responsible for introduc- i me to Bedford.
: was studying my code report, and silently pointed to a chair aut looking up. He turned back a few pages to re-read something, feed it as much the second time, and finally closed the report. Meamed from his opening remarks that he'd been a member of
?E since its inception. He'd seen my name several months ago when Us being put through the cards* but had done nothing whatsoever
ase my way into SOE. I told him that I was glad for his sake.
e courtesies then ended.
informed me that I was the first NDO in the history of SOE
"ity-jargon for screening.
89
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
who had failed to report a single one of the scraps of paper which
the security department deliberately left lying around as a trap for
indolent young watchpuppies like me! He then read me a list of the
items which his department had planted on the night I was on duty,
not one of which I had even mentioned. The rotten apples in the desk
included one which had been hollowed out for an explosive charge
and I hadn't even troubled to examine it. My respect for his directorate
increased by the second.
'Before I deal with far and away the worst offence of its kind that
I can recall,' he said, 'perhaps you'd care to explain what this is.' He
held out a sheet of paper with which I was only too familiar.
'It's only a poem-code I wrote last night. It hasn't been issued to
an agent.' Nor was it ever going to be! I'd spent most of my time on
the NDO's bed thinking about a lady 'night duty officer' who was
permanently on call in her Park West flat, and I'd jotted down the
principal recommendations I would make to her for passing what
remained of the night to our mutual benefit:
Tickle my wallypad
Tongue my zonker
And make an oaktree
Out of a conker ...
He retrieved it from me in silence. It was part of the evidence. The
more the better.
The next five minutes were riveting. His invective had been incubated
in Ireland and honed in Whitehall and he could have written
some interesting poems for the ditty-box. I had never seen anyone
quite as angry, with the exception of Tommy when we'd first met
and my boyhood CD (the high master of St Paul's) whenever we'd
met. I should be hauled up in front of the real CD very soon.
A cryptographer's mind never stops counting frequencies, even in
moments of extreme duress, and mine registered that the major was
repeating himself. He had twice told me that he had several times
read my report and now he was saying it again. I wondered what
Freud would have made out of this, apart from a fortune. I began
thinking about a Belgian indecipherable which had just come in until I
90
ieard myself being accused of 'playing silly buggers'. It was then that I soriced certain personality changes in the major which alarmed me.
Ete lilt had crept back into his voice, his manner had mellowed and he
?as softening into granite. Before I could do a thing to prevent it, the
oom became oppressive with imminent forgiveness. Since it was my
tst offence, and was my first stint of night duty, and I did seem to care
bout my job, he was going to exercise his discretion and let me off with .^warning. Just this once. He pointed firmly to the door.
: So much for my concept of SOE-mindedness. I couldn't even get Hyself reported!
r Determined to try again, I wondered how I could reach Lord Sellome
or go even higher, to Colonel Tiltman of Bletchley Park.
(,;He called me back in mid-speculation, and, as casually as any ashman can, said that he didn't wish me to misconstrue his leniency. ^had nothing to do with his friendship with Father. There was pother reason for it.
&He finally said that a lady whose judgement he respected had ooken quite highly of me, and that if I had any problems I could do
pat worse than talk them over with her.
||fCasually asked for the lady's name as I'd like us to become better
[uainted but it was the wrong question to have asked him. I'll tickle your zonker for you, you cheeky little bugger,' he roared. "ie then threw my report at me, and pointed to the door.
fc.
^'
|tl8 October the Grouse boarded a Halifax, took off for Hardanger
|ld plummeted towards their icy plateau. ^E didn't know if they had landed safely and didn't expect to S from them until they reached the Barren Mountain. From now
lOund-the-clock listening posts would be maintained. One of them By head.
aead of SOE's stationery department sat opposite me and waited ae to say something, though I hadn't asked her to call. Least of
Speleven o'clock at night.
m name was Joan Dodd, and I was convinced that she was the
|S<dio'd praised me to Major Jack. Unless Mother was working
'I cover in Baker Street.
91
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Yet it seemed unlikely that she was my benefactress. At our only
previous meeting she'd come storming into my office demanding to
know why the code department had quadrupled its demands for
squared paper, which was in very short supply and was needed by
other departments just as important as ours.
I was then in the middle of trying to break one of Skinnarland's
nastiest. I'd shown her why we wanted squared paper, but not content
with that I'd kept her there till she knew enough about indecipherables
to help me with Skinnarland's. The first key she tried was the one which
broke it. Then I put her to work on another. This time she wasn't so
lucky. By the time I let her go she could hardly find the door.
The next day squared paper arrived by the ream and I'd had no
trouble from her since.
But why would the head of the stationery department have Jack
O'Reilly's ear? And what would he respect her judgement about?
Paper clips?
I asked her if she knew the Major.
'Slightly,' she said. 'He's my godfather.'
I enquired how this extreme good fortune had come about.
'My father was assistant commissioner of police,' she said.
Of course! Sir John Dodd. O'Reilly's peacetime boss.
'Well now. Miss Dodd,' I said, wondering if I had any illicit provisions
left. 'What exactly have you come to see me about?'
'You phoned my department to ask if we could do some printing
for you on soluble paper. You were told that we could. And we
haven't heard from you since.'
This was very efficient of her. I hadn't followed up the enquiry.
Nor had I referred it to her personally. I preferred dealing with one
of her assistants with a view to long-term research into position
number sixty-nine (and others) in my favourite code-groups.
I told her that my enquiry was only part of a much larger printing
problem we had. She asked if I would care to discuss it with her. I
didn't see the point but for the sake of good relations showed her a
mocked-up version of a WOK. I told her that we would need large
numbers of them, that no two would be alike, and that they'd all
have to be printed on silk.
I showed her the purpose of the WOK.
92
She was very thoughtful. 'When do you want them?' she asked.
'Miss Dodd ... do you mean you could help?'
'With the printing? I believe so. I know whom to ask.'
'And the silk?'
'I don't think that's a problem. I know whom to ask.'
She held up the mocked-up WOK to the light. 'Will they all be as
egible as this?'
'Why, Miss Dodd?'
She looked at me with an expert's contempt for a stupid question.
ecause if the copy were better they could be photographed straight
l to silk. It would be quicker than printing.'
*You know a photographer?'
'Yes,' she said. 'The head of my directorate.'
'Miss Dodd,' I said, 'there's another problem.'
'I rather thought there was.' She said it like a mother who knew
here the pain was. I was sure she'd realized that I had no authority
{proceed with WOKs.
I told her that we hadn't got enough staff to make them - and that
B*d need a team of girls who'd shuffle numbered counters at random.
Wasn't sure how to go about getting them.
'•fDon't you know anyone in the personnel department?'
'Do you. Miss Dodd?'
(Yes,' she said. 'The head of it used to work for me!'
ISpace might be a problem.'
jThat's for the admin department.'
H asked if she knew anyone in the admin department.
pfes,' she said. 'The head of it's a friend of mine.'
iMiss Dodd . .. this whole subject of WOKs is still a matter of
aal discussion.'
»'t that what we're having, Mr Marks? An internal discussion?'
•ay I ask you a personal question then?'
jl'was clear that I did so at my peril.
liss Dodd ... is there anyone in SOE you don't know?'
s,' she said. 'You.'
produced a slip of paper from her handbag and handed it to
here were seven numbers on it. The combination of the briefcase
1 stolen from her office.
93
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I returned it to her in silence.
'Thank you,' she said. 'Perhaps you'll let me know when you're
ready to talk detail. Good night, Mr Marks.'
'Good night, Miss Dodd.'
I sat in a silence so deep that I could feel it inside me.
WOKS could happen. Whether in my time or my successor's didn't
matter. They could happen.
I put the slip of paper she'd given me in the only place I wouldn't lose
it - inside a drawer next to the photograph of Louis and Schmeling.
There was still no news of the Grouse.
A message arrived from Einar Skinnarland. He had encoded it
perfectly, a phenomenon which allowed us no respite from its
contents:
The Germans had ordered the entire stock of heavy water to be
shipped to Berlin. The present quantity was believed to be sufficient
for their High Command's purposes. The shipments were to take
place at the earliest possible moment.
Skinnarland's message was passed to the British High Command,
who at once sent it to Churchill. It was decided in Cabinet, with the
Chiefs of Staff, Lindemann and Mountbatten present, that the RAF
was to help SOE to mount a major new operation into Norway. In
Churchill's opinion the situation was now far too serious to rely only
on the Grouse.*
Wilson at once began planning for a commando of thirty men to
be landed from gliders to attack the plant and link up with the Grouse
if they arrived at Rjukan in time.
I pretended to myself that the FANY lieutenant I was briefing was
not one of Buckmaster's agents but a candidate for Grendon's code
room, that her supervisor would look after her if she had any troubles,
and that I was simply there to provide her with basic essentials.
I tried not to think about what she was going to do or what might
be done to her, and if she sensed that she was the first woman agent
I'd briefed she showed no signs of it.
* Information known at the time only to CD, Gubbins and Wilson.
94
THE GODFATHER
ie was a steady coder, managing somehow to control the vitality
was the essence of her as she slowly and methodically checked work before passing it to me.
was perfectly encoded but I noticed that she'd spelled Vienna
one 'n' and had corrected it herself. She would have less time
ie field and I made a note of the mistake.
e went through the shell of her security checks and I tried arget the circumstances under which they'd be demanded of
ie had a most beguiling accent, especially when she laughed. She
smiled in French.
isked her to come through the coding process once more and she anded immediately.
Here was no more I could teach her. I was too shy to wish her de alors' and shook hands. She had a very firm grip, especially
her eyes.
glanced at her code-card. She hadn't yet been given a code-name t she had, I hadn't been told of it.
vrote on her code conventions the name by which everyone else led to call her.
dette.
9November a message arrived from the Barren Mountain from
3rouse.
was a great day for SOE, our greatest so far.
only one thing spoiled it.
1C message was indecipherable.
aid not, would not, believe that Haugland had made a mistake
JS coding. Not in his first message. Nor did I believe that he would
By. It now had to be broken with absolute priority. It was all
lipherables in one.
Blotted 5,000 keys to the coders of Grendon and sat back to | before I started work myself.
' were two likely possibilities. The indicator-group might be
'd due to poor reception, but the signalmaster assured me
y'd had a clear strong signal and that the message had been
95
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
monitored by three different operators. He thought Morse mutilation
most unlikely.
The other possibility was that the Grouse had been captured and
that Haugland had given the Germans the wrong poem. This didn't
seem likely either. He knew that with his very first message his security
check could safely be used. It was in any subsequent messages that
it couldn't be trusted.
I decided that while the girls were making their blanket attack I
would try to break it cryptographically.
Wilson had told me (though hardly able to speak with tension and
frustration) that the Grouse's first message would contain the phrase
'three pink elephants' to indicate that they had arrived at Rjukan.
There was a 'k' in the code-groups, two 'p's and several Ts. I had
asked the Grouse to 'free' their language and this would now work
against me, but 'three pink elephants' would be an enormous help.
Its eighteen letters would straddle eighteen adjacent columns and
words would start forming if I aligned them properly.
I stopped after five minutes.
I owed it to Haugland.
If he hadn't made a mistake - and I knew he couldn't, he simply
couldn't - then there must be some other explanation, however
improbable.
Ten minutes later I telephoned Wilson to tell him that the message
was decoded. 'Three pink elephants. Colonel. And it's on its way
over to you.'
'God bless you,' he said - which made it even worse.
It was an hour before I had the courage to phone him again.
He was in a teasing mood. 'Do you still think Haugland's the best
coder you've ever met?'
'I know he is.'
'So why did he make a mistake? Nerves?'
'Haugland didn't make a mistake, sir. We did. I'm very, very sorry.'
A long pause.
'What mistake. Marks?'
'We copied a word of his poem wrongly. It was a typing error - I
didn't spot it. I'm very, very sorry.'
There was a small sound the other end of the line which I couldn't
96
THE GODFATHER
cipher. 'Would it help to prevent this if a member of my staff
iccked the Norwegian words for you?' he asked.
'Enormously.'
'I'll lay it on at once. You can count on it from tomorrow.'
'Thank you. Colonel Wilson. I'm very, very sorry.'
I couldn't believe that the sound I was hearing was laughter. 'So
was all your fault, was it? You can't decode a perfect message? I
n't wait to tell old Einar. He'll laugh his bloody head off after all
>u've said about him. And by the way, thank you for letting me
low.' He strode off the phone chuckling.
I didn't mind if he told 'old Einar'. He'd have to be alive to be
lie to laugh his bloody head off.
But I rather hoped he wouldn't tell my pupil on the Barren
bantam.
I valued his respect.
97
TEN
The Sixth Sense
I had a gut feeling about the Dutch but it was a bride unwilling to be
carried over the threshold of consciousness, and I couldn't pinpoint it.
'Why are you so concerned about them?' asked Heffer.
'I don't know.'
'In that case,' he said, 'it is serious,' and left me to pursue my
missing Dutch something.
There was a cataract over my mind's eye and I didn't know how
to remove it. There were so many conscious reasons for worrying
about the Dutch traffic that this elusive anxiety could have been
triggered by any or all of them. The obvious worries fell into three
main areas:
1 Abor's and Ebenezer's security checks
2 A traffic snarl-up between Boni, Parsnip and London
3 The Dutch section itself.
Abor's and Ebenezer's Security Checks
The elementary system in which Ozanne had such confidence required
Abor to make a deliberate spelling mistake every eighteenth letter of
his every message. He was also required to insert three dummy letters
at the end of his messages. Since he'd been dropped into Holland in
March of this year he hadn't used either check once.
Ebenezer (who'd been dropped in November '41) was required to
make a spelling mistake every sixteenth letter. He was also required
to insert three dummy letters at the end of each message. He'd done
98
THE SIXTH SENSE
so correctly until April of this year but suddenly began introducing
variations of his own, such as spelling 'stop' as 'stip', 'stap' and 'step' ^in places which were not multiples of sixteen. He'd also stopped using his second check altogether.
? In the considered opinion of N section, these (and other anomalies) ^ere entirely due to Morse mutilation and bad training.
The Boni-Parsnip Traffic Snarl-up
I-'
|Boni (formerly known as Spinach) was a WT operator who transItoitted
and received all the traffic of Parsnip, his organizer. He was
|^so responsible for the traffic of other key agents. The snarl-up, into lyhich I could as easily read too much as the Dutch section too little, lasted from 3 August until 12 November. Throughout this period the
Dutch section was planning to carry out several important operations,
1 relied on Boni, Parsnip and Potato for information about safe
ipping grounds, changes in sentry patrols, and all the other breadl-butter
ingredients of sabotage and infiltration.
'On 3 August they informed Parsnip that his friend Cabbage was
ddy to link up with him. Could they safely make contact via Potato?
b^ey also asked him several operational questions which required 'gent answers.
siNo reply was received to these questions during Boni's next four
eds though he transmitted three messages from Parsnip in the course Aem. The Dutch section then pressed for replies and were informed
'Boni that Parsnip had been unable to decipher London's message
y3' August. Boni suggested that Parsnip's future traffic should be phered in his (Boni's) code. Boni then transmitted five messages
i Parsnip, none of which we could decipher despite a blanket k of 5,000 attempts.
i 9 September the Dutch section's message of 3 August was
ited to Parsnip in Boni's code. In a separate message to Boni the
h section informed him that five of Parsnip's messages could not
ciphered and that a sixth was missing and asked Boni to retransU
of them in his own code (an appalling breach of cipher security
|0zanne was not prepared to intervene).
99
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
On 12 September Boni transmitted a message in Parsnip's code which
did not answer one of London's questions of 3 August. The Dutch section
acknowledged this message the next day and reminded Parsnip
that five of his previous messages could not be deciphered and that a
sixth was missing. They repeated their urgent enquiries of 3 August.
On 15 September Boni informed the Dutch section that Parsnip
had been unable to decipher London's message of the 13th, Boni
again suggested that all Parsnip's traffic should be encoded in his
(Boni's) code. At the end of this dangerously long transmission he
retransmitted Parsnip's five indecipherables in his own code. I noticed
that they dealt exclusively with Intelligence matters.
On 19 September the Dutch section alerted Potato that his operation
had to be postponed until the night of 7/8 October and urgently
instructed him to re-check the details and confirm that there was no
change. Potato made no reply at all to this message and on 2 October
the Dutch section reminded Boni that they still hadn't heard from
Potato.
On 3 October Boni transmitted two messages in Parsnip's code
which we were unable to decipher despite a blanket attack of 5,000
attempts. From this point onwards approximately 70 per cent of
Parsnip's traffic was passed in Boni's code, the remainder in his own.
On 7 October Boni retransmitted the sixth and seventh of Parsnip's
indecipherables as well as Parsnip's two indecipherables of 3 October.
He had re-enciphered them accurately in his own code. They all dealt
with Intelligence matters.
On 12 October Boni informed the Dutch section that Potato had
been unable to decipher London's message of 19 September and asked
them to repeat it. On the same day - after Heffer had personally
intervened with Ozanne - the Dutch section paraphrased their message
of the 19th and it was transmitted to Potato in Boni's code.
On 13 October Potato confirmed that conditions had not changed
and that everything was ready for the operation.
On 24 October Boni sent two messages in his own code from
Parsnip. Both dealt exclusively with Intelligence matters.
On 31 October the Dutch section informed Parsnip that the time
had come for him to contact Carrot. The message was enciphered in
Parsnip's code.
100
On 7 November Boni informed the Dutch section that Parsnip had
een unable to decipher London's message of the 31st and asked for 1 to be re-enciphered in his own code.
On 12 November a paraphrased version of this message was translitted
to Parsnip in Boni's code.
From 12 November onwards traffic proceeded to flow smoothly
i both directions and the dropping operation took place on the
ights of 28 /29 November to the complete satisfaction of the Dutch
ection.
The snarl-up had caused the following casualties:
Nine indecipherables from Holland to London
Four indecipherables from London to Holland
Nine repeated messages from Holland to London
Four repeated messages from London to Holland.
"hese repeated messages had totally compromised the security of oni's and Parsnip's codes, such as it was in the first place. ^The Dutch section attributed the entire snarl-up to the natural
Uzards of clandestine communication. The unnatural hazards were
atemselves and Ozanne.
s The Dutch Section
afound the Dutch more difficult to approach than any other country Iferion. The head of the Directorate was Major Blizzard; his deputy
|ls Captain Bingham, and they were assisted by Captain Killick, fcose real name was Kypers. They had a stock answer to every Iquiry I made about the security of their agents: 'They're perfectly Plight; we have our own ways of checking on them,' and I wasn't
la 'position to ask what they were.
PCillick was the most open-minded and co-operative, though he was ^ign Office trained, but I discovered from reading the back traffic
he'd committed the worst breach of security I'd come across I joining SOE.
him with it on the telephone. 'Captain Killick, is it true
101
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
that in April this year you authorized Trumpet to recruit and train
a local wireless operator?'
'Yes.'
'And is it also true that you instructed him to make this operator
transmit a test message?'
'Yes.'
'And when that message arrived, the operator hadn't used any
security checks?'
'No, he hadn't.'
'Did you then instruct Trumpet to teach the operator how to use
security checks? - and in the same message, did you tell him exactly what those checks were to be?'
'I did.'
'Do you consider that was good security, Captain Killick?'
'You weren't here in April,' he said, buying a little time.
'I've been reading your back traffic. Was it good security, Captain
Killick?'
'Of course it wasn't. And I'll see nothing like it happens again.'
At least I'd achieved something but I still couldn't pinpoint that
elusive worry. All I could say to anyone - with my hand on a WOK
or any other Bible - was that there was something wrong with the
Dutch traffic.
It was a relief to turn from the mysteries of Holland to the wonders
of Denmark.
The Danish directorate was the least troublesome (though often
the most troubled) in the whole of Baker Street. Ever since 1940,
when King Christian had ordered his people to accept the German
occupation with dignified demeanour - 'And God help you all, and
God help Denmark!' - Churchill and the Chiefs of Staff had discounted
the Danes as a fighting force. But this hadn't deterred the
head of the Danish section (Commander Hollingsworth) and his
deputy (Reginald Spink) from proceeding with dignified demeanour
to prove that the tiny country had a contribution to make which was
out of all proportion to its size.
The first Danish agents were dropped blind in December '41 - Dr
Carl Bruhn to recruit partisans, and Mogens Hammer to set up wire102
less links with London. Bruhn's parachute didn't open and Hammer,
who'd landed safely, couldn't find his body. Nor could he find the
transmitter which Bruhn was carrying. The Germans found both.
They also found Hammer's parachute and issued a warning that the
first British agents had arrived in Denmark and that one of them was
still at large. It was extremely dangerous for Hammer to move around
Copenhagen but he dressed himself as a Protestant parson and became
, so at home in the part that he frequently preached at German military
services.
, His greatest problem was not divine communication but how to
Ifind a new transmitter and to solve it he contacted Ebbe Muncke,
plead of the Danish patriotic group in Sweden, who ran a weekly
(courier service to London. Muncke provided Hammer with the equipJpient
he needed and in April '42 Hammer transmitted his first message
J London. The signal was so weak that it was barely decipherable i Hammer persuaded a brilliant Danish engineer, Duus Hansen,
build a new one for him in his Copenhagen laboratory. Duus
nsen's set worked even better than SOE's own and Hammer made ne of the most far-sighted decisions ever taken on SOE's behalf. He scruited Duus Hansen into SOE.
i Something equally significant had taken place in neglected little snmark in June '41 which neither Hammer nor SOE knew about
the time. Three young men, anxious to join what they believed to
an active Danish Resistance in London, had acquired the frame
a two-seater sports plane and, using the best of Danish inspiration id a motor-car engine, had built an aeroplane which they assembled
a barn outside Copenhagen. The three would-be aviators were ^um, Petersen and Rottboll. Since their plane would hold only two
as many), Rottboll decided to go by sea. In June '41 Sneum and
tersen flew to Britain in their contraption, bringing with them films
the latest German radar systems.
s. Astonished British scientists confirmed that the films contained the
t valuable information yet received from any source about Gerl
radar - and C asked the two young men to return home and
up a wireless link with England. In September '41 Sneum and a
less operator were dropped back into Denmark. They were
ly with a Danish police officer and with his help sent C a series
103
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
of messages about the daily activities of the German security police.
C did not inform SOE of this vital wireless link. Nor did C disclose
to SOE the information about the movements of the German police.
Even in a country the size of Denmark the sister organizations would
not collaborate.
The third young man, Rottbell, reached London with the help of
Ebbe Muncke and so impressed Commander Hollingsworth that he
was invited to take command of all SOE agents in Denmark. The
young man accepted and in April parachuted with two wireless operators
on to a dropping ground in Denmark prepared by Mogens
Hammer.
In May 1942 there were only seven SOE agents in Denmark and
Rottb0ll's first priority was to recruit new ones and to find a distinguished
Danish citizen to come to London to head up a Free Danish
Council. He contacted Christmas Moller, a prominent politician, who arrived in London in May to form the Danish government-in-exile.
With little help from SOE (though Hollingsworth provided all he
could) Rottboll co-ordinated the various Resistance groups in Denmark
and persuaded them to pool their resources under SOE. His
chief wireless operator, Johannesen, was in regular contact with
London, Stockholm and Gothenburg. Early in September German
direction-finding units located the house from which he was operating
and burst into it. Johannesen held them off with a pistol just long
enough to swallow his L-tablet.
On 25 September the German police located the house where
Rottboll was living and surrounded it. They called on the young man
to surrender. He died with twelve bullets in him.
On both these raids the Germans had insisted that Danish police
should accompany them.
The raids continued, and by the end of September London was
completely out of wireless contact with the Danish Resistance, though
many messages were smuggled into our embassy in Sweden and
relayed to London.
In the middle of October Hollingsworth asked to see me 'as soon
as convenient'.
I was with him ten minutes later. His entire directorate was
squeezed into three small offices in Chiltern Court, and he shared
104
ie with his deputy, Spink, an expert on Denmark's economy.
Hollingsworth was the only country section head I'd met who was
repared to discuss his problems with me as if I were a member of
,s directorate. He confided that Mogens Hammer had arrived in
ondon, and was prepared to return to Denmark within the next ten
iys despite the dangers. It was essential that he took new codes with
[hi. He must also have a stock in reserve to hand to new agents. He
as waiting next door to be briefed.
I asked if he and Spink would write some original poems in Danish,
id they at once agreed. I then suggested that, to make the reserve
yems easier for Hammer to conceal, and if necessary to dispose of,
iey should be microfilmed on soluble paper. Hollingsworth liked
ie principle but asked if they could be produced on waterproof
iper. It was an unusual request and I asked the reason for it.
Hammer was to be dropped into the sea.
It would be the first time this form of parachuting had been
tempted by an SO E agent. After a great deal of research a special
aterproof suit had been produced for Hammer which fitted over
s ordinary clothing. It was still in the experimental stage and there
as a great danger that, if the fabric were torn, water would saturate
Ijg suit and its sheer weight would cause the wearer to drown.
•Hammer's reaction had been typical: 'If it doesn't work for me you
ill learn from it and it will work for the next man.'
fl went next door to brief the sea-going parson.
At was likely to be a difficult session. I knew from his traffic that
S:was an excellent coder and WT operator, but instructing agents
»the use of the poem-code would be a new experience for him, and
l^as a hard enough task in the safety of training schools, let alone
1-occupied Denmark.
'•tie greeted me as if I were a member of his congregation who
|fe't put enough in the plate, and was clearly in no mood to be
?ht how to teach. Like all agents who'd formed coding habits, he
some difficulty absorbing new security rules and showed flashes
emper which were mainly directed against himself. But at the end
m hour he'd made his peace with his coding and smiled from the
pit when I wished him good luck.
120 October he dropped into the sea and arrived in Copenhagen
105
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
a day or two later to resume his sermons to his German flock.
SOE had a massive success in November and an even more massive
disaster.
The success was our contribution to the invasion of North Africa
which had helped to secure Algiers for the Allies.
SOE's base had been set up at Guyotville and given the code-name
Massingham. It was to be our communications centre in North Africa
for main-line and agents' traffic. London was to provide most of the
coders and Dansey told me to pick some of the best from Station 53.
The girls were delighted but it meant breaking up a team. Dispersing
them was like tearing out pages from an illuminated manuscript and
selling them separately, one of 84's less desirable habits.
The disaster was Norway.
On 19 November thirty-four officers and men in two gliders were
towed by two Halifaxes towards something approximating a flat strip
of country near Rjukan. They were to be met on landing by the
Grouse.
The clouds that night were so dense that the pilots decided to turn
back thirty or so miles away from the dropping ground. One of the
tow ropes snapped and the gliders crashed to the ground. The other
Halifax crashed into a hill. Of the seventeen men in the first glider,
nine survived. Four of them were taken to a hospital in Stavanger.
Air bubbles were injected into their veins by a Quisling doctor and
they died at once. The other five were taken to a concentration camp
and executed, their hands tied behind their backs with barbed wire.
Only fourteen men survived the other plane crash and many of
them were badly injured. They were rounded up by German security
police and shot by a firing squad. The wounded were executed first,
leaning against a wall.
Every one of the executed men was wearing a British army uniform.
The Grouse were still safe.
At the beginning of December a new figure had begun prowling the
corridors of Baker Street. He was a tall colonel, and Heffer was
usually beside him.
Then the stranger began prowling alone.
106
He spent a long time in Dansey's office.
He did not come into mine.
In mid-December two signals officers were dismissed for inefciency.
Three more were posted back to their units. There were
imours that other dismissals were on the way.
Then the prowler disappeared for a while . . .
he gut feeling about Holland was now lodged in the abdomen,
rhere it kept better company.
On 16 December the Dutch section informed Boni that in the
)llowing moon period were dropping six (it turned out to be seven)
Mitainers, and that new poems for Boni, Parsnip and Cabbage would C found in a small wooden box marked with a white cross. (Why
id I keep seeing the agents in a large wooden box with no cross to
lark it?) The containers were dropped on the night of the 22nd/ 3rd, and Boni acknowledged their safe arrival. He also acknowldged
receipt of the poems.
,1 hadn't asked for them to be original compositions. It might alert ie Germans in Holland that we were aware of the dangers of using
imous quotations, and cause them to revise their opinion of any
pganization stupid enough to use the poem-code. ^SOE had somehow heard that Christmas was imminent, and the
?ders of Grendon were anxious for some leave. I volunteered to
and in on Christmas Day for whichever coder won me in a raffle.
didn't envy the supervisor who'd have to check the results. My
andwriting was as illegible as the gut feeling. On 22 December the stranger resumed his prowling.
I knew by now that his name was Colonel Nicholls. I also knew that he was doing here.
;:He was to take over the Signals directorate.
sHeffer had promised Ozanne that he'd look for a suitable replace- |ent for me. Instead he'd found one for Ozanne. If this wasn't an Sample of SOE-mindedness, I wondered what was. I also wondered
|»y Nicholls hadn't come anywhere near me, if only to say, 'Good JUance.' p was convinced that the bad rubbish wouldn't have long to wait.
» » »
107
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
On Christmas Eve Joan Dodd presented me with a trial version of a
silk WOK. The printing was too small and the silk would have to
be chemically treated to make it easy to cut but it was the most
beautiful sight I'd seen. My first impulse was to share it with Dansey
and Heff, but with my job in the balance I knew that I daren't, and
wore it as a pocket handkerchief instead.
The Xmas traffic was light and I was preparing to go home when
Colonel Nicholls walked in and sat opposite me in silence.
He was very tall, very thin, with a nose like a snooker ball which
had been potted once too often. A red one. 'Right, Marks,' he said.
'Tell me all about it.'
Obeying him immediately I told him all that was wrong with the
codes and right with the coders, and kept only one thing back: the
breaking of the secret French code.
He closed his eyes after twenty minutes or so and seemed to be
asleep, but something warned me that it was his way of listening. He
looked up the moment I stopped talking.
I gave him my WOK to examine and thought for a moment that
he was going to blow his nose on it. I then explained how it worked.
He was silent for an agent's lifetime.
He spent ten minutes re-examining it and closed his eyes for five
of them. He asked me to show him again how the security checks
would operate and tried one for himself. 'Who advised you about
this?' he asked quietly.
I told him that I'd discussed it with Dansey and Heffer.
'Yes, yes. But which cryptographer advised you?'
'Nobody has, sir.'
'Have you ever felt in need of expert advice?'
'Every minute of every day, sir.'
He asked whose advice I'd like if I could get it.
'If I could get it, sir, Colonel Tiltman's. He works at Bletchley
Park.'
'Does he indeed? Have you met him?'
'No, sir. But I saw him once in a corridor at the code-breaking
school.'
'Why didn't you meet him?'
'I wasn't considered promising enough, sir.'
108
He blew his snooker ball with his own pocket handkerchief. 'I'm
raid poor old John's got himself tied up in admin. It's a great waste
his cryptographic talent.'
Poor old John? - Does he actually know him?
He stood up suddenly, and became a very full colonel indeed.
olonel Ozanne's shown me your coding report.'
Goodbye, SOE. It's been nice not knowing you.
'I completely endorse it, though it would have been better without
iur occasional flippancies.'
He cut me short in mid-apology.
'Colonel Tiltman endorses it too - he read it last week - you'll be
seting him shortly.'
He had a smile which could lift the black-out. 'I suggest you go
ane now. Happy Christmas, Marks.'
*Happy Christmas, Colonel Nicholls.'
109
ELEVEN
The High-Pitched Bleep
All of us in SOE were as certain as we could be of anything that
1943 was going to be our make-or-break year. The make was likely
to be the country sections' new operations; the break the poem-code
which carried their traffic. I still had no authority to replace it with
WOKs.
Nor did I have authority to install two girls on the top floor of
Norgeby House to make WOK-keys by hand, but I'd done it with
the help of Joan Dodd's circuit and hoped that it would be condoned.
Acute shortage of aircraft and equipment were the main obstacles
to SOE's Happy New Year, and the country sections' rivalry for the
wherewithal to take the war to the enemy was a war in itself. The
piece of equipment which indicated a country section's priority was
a brilliant device called a Eureka which enabled an agent to guide an
aircraft to a dropping ground without the use of lights or flares, no
matter how dark the night.
The Eureka was simple to work. Its built-in transmitter was tuned
to the wavelength of the aircraft's receiver, and by emitting a continuous
high-frequency signal it provided a radio beam down which the
aircraft could fly. Several of them had been dropped into Holland.
I badly needed a Eureka of my own to help me resolve the niggling
feeling that the Dutch traffic was continuing to emit a high-pitched
bleep which I was still failing to pick up.
1 had many reasons, some of which I knew, for being interested in
an altogether more complex Eureka - the mind of Sigmund Freud.
The great decoder of unconscious signals had left Austria in 1938
to seek sanctuary in England and he'd found some for himself
110
amongst the bookshelves of 84. Freud was seldom well enough to
leave his Hampstead home and couldn't climb the stairs to the third
floor of 84, where rare religious and occult books were housed. Frank
Doel, the shop's anchor-man, had gladly carried down to him everything
that he'd wanted to see. He was particularly interested in anything
which had a bearing on the life of Moses. * He was too ill to visit Marks & Co. again and died in 1939. As compensation for arriving five minutes too late to see him sitting there (J. B. Priestley had pulled out
a chair for him), I was given signed copies of The Interpretation of creams and The Psychopathology of Everyday Life. They were
laddictive and should have been issued on prescription only.
| I tried with uninformed enthusiasm to apply their principles to the
»sychopathology of SOE life. According to my understanding of
igmund, I was in the market for Joan Dodd's sexual stationery, Bit that my parents should be starving instead of the Grouse, and
Sftew in my unconscious exactly what was wrong with the Dutch
Jaffic.
jjl-.lt must be a very dark night down there. The knowledge still refused
surface.
E»m all that I'd heard about SOE's director of Finance, he was as
d at causing nightmares as Freud at decoding them. Group Capi
Venner had been in SOE long enough to believe that he knew
ry fiddle there was. He was convinced that I'd worked a new one
was determined to find out how I'd managed it.
E had forgotten that my two WOK-makers could not live by codes
Mie and that someone would have to pay them a salary. That
laeone was Group Captain Venner.
|The unauthorized employment of two lowly paid civilians hardly
toed to warrant the personal attention of a member of the ExecuE"
Council but I was duly summoned to Venner's office for a full
bunting.
'Ie wanted no time in skirmishing. 'I want to know how those girls
shere.'
I completed Moses and Monotheism (1937-9) in London.
Ill
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I began to explain the importance to SOE of the work they were
doing.
'I don't give a damn if they're planning the invasion of Europe. I
want to know how they got here.'
'They are planning the invasion of Europe, sir.'
"WW?'
I explained that we were going to invade it with a new code, which
the girls were making by hand, and that to vary the drudgery they
helped Grendon to break indecipherables.
The office was filled with that most despairing of sounds, a finance
director's sigh. 'Will you please tell me how they got here?'
'By bus, sir.'
I was afraid he was about to send for the fraud squad. Its SOE
equivalent was Major O'Reilly.
'What are indecipherables?' he suddenly asked.
He hardly had time to cover up his secret documents before I was
seated by his side giving him a potted version of how indecipherables
were broken. I showed him why the permutations could run into tens
of millions. He did a quick calculation on his pad and nodded. 'Do
we get many?' he asked.
Anyone who'd say 'we' in circumstances like this must be a good
man to work for.
'Some weeks we get none, sir. But most of the time they come at
us from all over Europe. We get them from the Free French, the
normal French, the Danes, the Norwegians, the ... you've been an
absolute Godsend, sir. May I go now?'
I rushed back to my own office before he could answer.
The unconscious signal had finally reached its Home Station and
only God and Freud would know how I'd missed it.
With the exception of Parsnip's traffic, which was passed by Boni,
we had never received an indecipherable from Holland which had
been caused by coding mistakes.
It was then that I realized the implications.
There was an essential piece of homework I had to do before trying
to convince SOE of what the absence of indecipherables from Holland
really meant. It was vital to establish whether Parsnip's indecipher-
112
ables had been caused by Morse mutilation or mistakes in his coding. If it proved to be the latter, he was the only Dutch agent who was
behaving normally.
Putting the code-groups of his seven indecipherables side by side
with Boni's clear texts, I was about to start on a cryptographic jamboree
to reconstruct whatever mistakes in coding Parsnip might have (Hade when I remembered that his indecipherables had all been conicemed
with Intelligence matters. I also remembered that the Dutch
sjgection's traffic had twice referred to a special code (Playfair) which
fcjpotato used for passwords and addresses. Supposing Parsnip were
laasing a special code for his Intelligence messages and for some reason 'Jjj^re had no knowledge of it?
I telephoned Bingham and demanded that he talk to me. Yes, of 3urse he'd given Parsnip a reserve poem for his Top Secret Intelli6nce
messages. Yes, of course he'd informed Dansey which poem te'd selected, and yes of course he'd confirmed it in writing, there
BBust be a memo on file. What was all the fuss about anyway? I told |dm that it was just a routine check.
I'iiAnd of course there was no such memo on Dansey's meticulous
|e» and of course Dansey had not been told by Bingham which
|?erve poem Parsnip was to use for Intelligence messages. We had (Sed a blanket attack on the wrong code.
|&very one of Parsnip's messages came out perfectly on his reserve
l?m, and I was ashamed that I was glad. I could now say without
ly qualification to whoever would listen to me that no Dutch agent irf made a mistake in his coding ...
|t was time to consult Heffer, the only man in SOE with whom it
safe to think aloud.
Were the Dutch agents the only ones who never made mistakes
eir coding? Were they all Knut Hauglands? Or were their working iitions so secure that they had as much time as they needed to " their messages and didn't have to worry about Germans on awl?
could the Abor/Ebenezer security check anomalies still be
ited to bad training and forgetfulness when that same bad trainat
same forgetfulness, made them into flawless coders?
113
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
How much reliance could really be placed on the Dutch section's
assurances that they regularly monitored their agents' safety? Were
they relying on the reports of agents who might themselves be
captured?
And was the traffic snarl-up no more than a natural hazard of
clandestine communication? What about the four messages from
London which Parsnip and Potato had been unable to decode? I'd
checked and double-checked every one of them and they'd been
encoded perfectly. Were Parsnip and Potato pretending they couldn't
decipher them to postpone answering difficult questions and to avoid
meetings which they couldn't possibly attend?
Heffer blinked, which was his way of holding up his hand, and
asked what my conclusions were.
I put to him that indecipherables were a black plague and that
there was only one feasible explanation for the Dutch agents' immunity
from it. They were operating under duress.
He warned me that I was basing my conclusions on a negative
inference. The Dutch section and others were likely to say that the
'discovery' was no more than coincidence or a specialist juggling with
statistics. He advised me to look into it more deeply and prepare a
written report for Nicholls, who'd be back in a week's time. I knew
then that he took it as seriously as I did.
Showing signs of duress himself, he stressed the importance of
finding supporting evidence that the agents had been caught. Inspired
guesses only produced inspired excuses. He warned me against saying
anything to the Dutch section prematurely. They might send a message
to the field asking why there'd been no indecipherables.
He expressed, if the term were applicable to his tempo, interest in
knowing what had pointed me in this direction.
I didn't tell him that it was a combination of Group Captain Venner
and Air Commodore Freud.
The first thing to establish was who was actually encoding the messages.
Was it the agents under supervision? Or were the Germans
doing it themselves? The only way to determine this was to study the
coding habits of every Dutch agent.
I took the clear-texts of all the messages which had been received
114
from Holland since June '42 and encoded them as the agents had. It was a long and exhausting process and I found that by the end of it I'd made many mistakes, and that two of my messages were completely
indecipherable. According to Freud, this was likely to be deliberate.
A pattern emerged which was not quite distinctive enough to be
called a style. It was based upon a freedom of choice. Every agent
could pick any five words of his poem for his transposition keys.
Agents tended to have favourite words and often used the same com; fcination for a number of messages. These words either had an emotive
1: value for them or they were the easiest to spell. But above all, agents
Ijfavoured the shortest words they could find because they minimized
j||he tortuous process of numbering the key-phrases.
'The Dutch agents were perfectly normal in their ratio of favourite yords to new ones. I noticed that Boni never chose a key-phrase (jiithout the word 'wish' in it. They were also normal in their choice r the shortest words - with one exception: Ebenezer regularly used t least two of the longest words at his disposal. For one message ft'd even used three, making his transposition-key over twenty letters ng. Done by Haugland, it was an example of a first-class coder. one by Ebenezer, it could mean that he had plenty of time for his iding and showed a marked departure from an agent's norm. The (estion was, was it the norm for Ebenezer?
Hi contacted his training school to check the length of the key-phrases id used in his student days, but his training messages had long since
n destroyed. The instructor reminded me that it wasn't until July
that London had ordered the training schools to retain every
Bt's practice messages. I was familiar with this instruction. I'd sent
tyself in the name of Ozanne.
didn't help with Ebenezer but I was now able to examine the tog exercises of every Dutch agent who'd been sent into the field ft July '42. They'd been average to good coders and each of them sent a trainee's normal quota of indecipherables. Yet not one A agent had repeated his early training mistakes when he reached ield.
us put the Dutch in a class apart. t did their wireless habits. arts from the Grendon signalmasters showed that the Dutch
115
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
WT operators made as many procedural errors as other agents and
that their traffic was as prone to Morse mutilation. But with the
exception of Boni, not a single Dutch WT operator had asked the
Home Station to repeat a message on the grounds that it had been
garbled in transmission and couldn't be deciphered. This was an
important discovery but it had to be kept in perspective.
Grendon's transmitters were powerful and the operators highly
trained and the incidence of agents asking for repeats of messages
was small. But it had happened several times in every country section
except the Dutch.
The agent who'd come closest to it was Ebenezer. In April '42 he'd
suddenly terminated a sked because of interference. Even so, he had
never asked for London's messages to be repeated.
Why was it, then, that this same interference, which so troubled other
countries' agents, hadn't caused the Dutch to send or receive a single
indecipherable, with the possible exceptions of Parsnip and Potato?
I broke off at this stage to summarize for Nicholls my findings to
date. I reported that, on balance, I thought that the Dutch agents
were doing their own coding and that their messages were being
checked by the Germans before transmission. I couldn't yet specify
how many agents had been caught or who they were, but at least a
large question mark had to be put against the names of Abor, Ebenezer,
Boni, Trumpet and Potato.
The next phase would determine whether I could produce any
substantive proof. It would be the first time that I had studied a
country section's traffic for its content alone.
I read through every message which the Dutch section had sent to
the field and compared each one with the agent's replies. It needed
a trained Intelligence officer to do this job properly. The traffic contained
so many disturbing implications that halfway through a second
reading I went back to the beginning to make a precis of the principal
exchanges. It was like trying to synopsize the Domesday Book.
When the precis was finished I listed the dropping operations in
chronological order with the names of the agents involved. Remembering
that Nicholls was a professional soldier, I refrained from adding
a layman's comments. That was the most difficult part.
Ebenezer and Thijs Taconis (referred to in messages as 'Tall Thijs')
116
rese dropped into Holland in November '41. Their early traffic was »ainly concerned with bread-and-butter Intelligence and the probyas of setting up communications. Ebenezer's first message was
eceived on 3 January and his skeds, which he kept regularly, were
n alternate Fridays.
"?0n 28 February two more agents Jordaan (Trumpet) and Ras (Let- gce) were dropped near Holten. Trumpet was referred to in messages
y his field-name, Jeffers.
On 15 March the Dutch section instructed Ebenezer to find a dropjpg
ground for a new agent and a number of containers. The operiion
was code-named Watercress and would take place in the next
|oon period. Ebenezer replied that he was looking for a dropping
round and would prepare a reception committee.
||0n 17 March London informed Ebenezer that Taconis had found popping ground near the banks of the Reitdeip canal. Ebenezer
; instructed to prepare it for Watercress. Ebenezer replied that the tdeip dropping ground was too isolated and suggested that the
p should take place on the moorlands near Steenwijk.
: was in this message that he began his peculiar spelling of 'stop'
||stip', 'step' and 'stap', and omitting his secondary security check.
1 25 March the Dutch section agreed to accept Steenwijk and
med Ebenezer that Abor would be dropped there within fortyhours.
He was instructed to arrange the ground lights in the
of a triangle; the reception committee should identify itself to
" by using the name Ebenezer.
128 March Ebenezer reported that Abor had been dropped safely cfour containers.
l 29 March Lieutenant Andringa (referred to in messages as
e) and Jan Molenaar (Turnip, field-name Martens) were dropped lolten.
on 29 March Ebenezer was instructed to find out what had led to two agents who'd been dropped on 10 March and had ttb contact London.
|s4April Ebenezer replied that one of the agents had been killed Kding and he was trying to establish contact with the other.
k,5 April Kloos (Leek) and Sebes (Heck) were dropped into i. They arrival coincided with a series of messages from the
117
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Dutch section of Ebenezer asking him to find out what had happened
to Akkie and Martens, who had been out of touch with London since
their arrival. Ebenezer reported that he'd had no success in tracing
them.
On 9 April Trumpet informed London that he had just met Akkie
at a safe-house in Haarlem. Akkie wanted London to know that his
WT operator Martens (Turnip) had been killed on landing. Akkie
still had Turnip's signal-plan and he wanted Trumpet to use it and
be his WT operator until London could send a replacement.
The Dutch section at once agreed that Trumpet should handle
Akkie's traffic and promised to send a new WT operator during the
next moon period.
Lieutenant de Haas (Potato, field-name Fiji) was landed by motor
torpedo boat on the Dutch coast on 19 April. He was the first Dutch
agent to be equipped with a Eureka. He was to link up with Akkie.
His messages were to be passed by Ebenezer.
On 24 April Trumpet sent London an urgent message over 300
letters long. It was so disturbing that I put an asterisk against it and
against the messages it gave rise to, and then erased them. It was
better for Nicholls to insert his own.
Trumpet informed the Dutch section that Leek and Heck could
not communicate with London as their WT sets had been lost on
landing. They had contacted the Lettuce group to ask for WT facilities.
(Trumpet was Lettuce's WT operator.)
Trumpet went on to say that Fiji (Potato) had also been in touch
with him. Fiji had been unable to communicate with London because
he couldn't contact either Thijs (Taconis) or Ebenezer, who were to
send his messages for him. Trumpet had agreed to pass Fiji's traffic
until Thijs or Ebenezer could be reached.
The Dutch section at once sent a message to Thijs via Ebenezer informing
him that Fiji had been trying to contact him. Thijs was told to
make arrangements through the safe-house at Haarlem to meet Fiji. Taconis replied via Ebenezer that he would contact Fiji immediately.
This was the start of independent circuits of agents being put in
direct touch with each other, all of them dependent on Ebenezer,
Boni or Trumpet for their traffic.
On 20 April Trumpet informed London that Akkie had found a
118
reliable local WT operator. Trumpet wanted London's authority to
recruit him and teach him SOE's WT procedures. The Dutch section
agreed to this request but stipulated that the new operator must send
a test signal to London.
On 30 April the Dutch section informed Trumpet that the new
operator's test signal was satisfactory but that he'd omitted his security
checks. Trumpet was given specific details of these checks in the
same message.
I put six asterisks against this one, then erased five of them.
. On 2 May the Dutch section instructed Ebenezer to prepare a
;i dropping ground on the Steenwijk moors for a large number of con|tainers.
Ebenezer confirmed that the dropping ground was ready. The
|;<drop took place without enemy interference.
I On 11 May the Dutch section sent Fiji a message via Ebenezer's
|set instructing him to find suitable points along the coast where agents
|and equipment could be landed at night. He was to use his 'special equipment' for the first time.
Hi This 'special equipment' was a lamp which emitted an invisible
nfra-red beam which signalled its position to a receiver on board a hip. The landing party would thus be able to pinpoint the spot where Sjl and his reception committee were waiting.
; Piji replied via Ebenezer suggesting several suitable landing points
|tt the coast and the Dutch section selected Katwijk.
|s0n 17 May Piji sent a message that he and a reception committee id waited at Katwijk all night but that the ship had not appeared. 'n 19 May London informed Piji that the operation was to be
ited in two nights' time.
122 May Piji reported that shortly after midnight there had been
re at sea and that he had again waited several hours but had not made contact with the ship.
n 25 May the Dutch section informed Piji that the operation had l abandoned for the time being. Piji was now to concentrate on
tog Ebenezer's group. He was also to investigate the possibilities
ibotaging German ships in Dutch harbours.
this traffic was passed on Ebenezer's set.
28 May Ebenezer was warned by London to prepare for the
il of Beetroot and Swede.
119
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
On 29 May Beetroot (Parlevliet) and Swede (van Steen) were
dropped to a reception committee on the Steenwijk moors. They were
equipped with Eurekas and S-phones. The latter enabled agents to
have ground-to-aircraft conversations. Beetroot and Swede were to
mount an attack on the Juliana canal locks.
On 12 June Trumpet was instructed by London to prepare dropping
grounds for the arrival of Parsnip and Spinach.
On 22 June Parsnip and Spinach parachuted to the Assen dropping
grounds suggested by Trumpet. Parsnip was to link up with Potato,
who was well known to Ebenezer. Parsnip and Spinach were to organize
a sabotage group in Overijssel.
On 23 June Ebenezer and Trumpet were alerted to the imminent
arrival of Marrow, the most important mission of all. Marrow was
Professor Louis Jambroes. He was to be accompanied by a WT operator,
Joseph Bukkens.
On 26 June Jambroes and Bukkens were dropped to Ebenezer's
reception committee at Apeldoorn with the help of a Eureka. Bukkens
was equipped with the prototype of a small, highly selective WT
transmitter, the first of its kind to be issued.
The Dutch section was so concerned for Marrow's safety that it
had suggested five different dropping grounds to Ebenezer before
finally agreeing to Apeldoorn.
Ebenezer and Trumpet were amongst the many agents who knew
why this mission was so important to the liberation of Holland.
Jambroes was the official representative of the Dutch government-inexile
and a member of the National Resistance Council in London.
He was to take command of the Dutch secret army and prepare it
for 'Plan Holland' - the code-name for the Chiefs of Staff's invasion
plan to liberate the Low Countries. Jambroes was also to meet the
leaders of the various Dutch Resistance groups and co-ordinate them
under a National Committee of Resistance. His mission had the full
support of the Allied High Command.
Shortly after he arrived Jambroes began sending London a spate
of messages describing the poor morale amongst the various groups
he had contacted and stressing the dangers of infiltration by German
informers. He emphasized to the Dutch section that it was essential
for his security that he travelled from place to place and that he
120
[d no longer be contactable on a day-to-day basis. He would also
aable to keep in regular touch with his WT operators but would
messages whenever he could. The Dutch section agreed to his
osals and warned him to take extreme care.
was now Ebenezer's turn to send a request asking permission to lit a local WT operator to help with his traffic. The Dutch section id to it.
a 5 July Ebenezer was instructed to investigate the possibilities
owing up the Kootwijk wireless transmitter. The attack was to
d by Taconis, assisted by a team of demolition experts.
tween 8 and 20 July Ebenezer sent a number of messages giving ietails of the layout of the Kootwijk transmitter and saying that
is lightly guarded. He suggested that it could be destroyed by
1 charges placed amongst the mast anchors. a 28 July Ebenezer reported to London that the attack had been
aster as some of Taconis's men had run into a minefield. The asions had alerted the guards and the operation had been aban;d.
Three of the attacking party had been killed; five men were
missing. Taconis himself was safe and unwounded. Ebenezer
Sed that the Kootwijk wireless transmitter and all similar instal- us were now heavily guarded.
te Dutch section sent a message to Ebenezer regretting the loss ;e and warning him to suspend all operational activities for the being.
vo weeks later a further message was sent to Ebenezer congratug
all members of the raiding party on their heroic attempt and
Ig that Taconis would receive a British military decoration for
sadership.
the middle of August the Dutch section's messages began to ^increasing unease about Jambroes's long silences and his apparack
of progress and he was sent repeated messages urging him
Carn to London for consultations.
Bibroes replied to these invitations explaining that he was too tto come, that a pick-up by sea or air would be far too dangerous
that it wasn't the right moment for him to leave Holland. I 25 August the Dutch section suggested to him that he should lOE's Spanish escape route and offered to put him in touch with
121
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
a group of agents in Paris who operated the escape line. Jambroes
accepted the Spanish escape route as the safest plan yet and promised
to use it at the earliest moment.
By mid-September that moment had still not arrived. Jambroes
began reporting the excellent progress he was making with the sixteen
new groups he was forming.
On 15 September the Dutch section warned Ebenezer to expect the
arrival of an important new mission, code-named Erica.
Erica was dropped into Holland on 25 September to a reception
committee arranged by Ebenezer. The mission was under the command
of Christian Jongelie, whose field-name was Arie. He was the
personal emissary of the Dutch Prime Minister and carried a message
from him to the leaders of the political parties urging them to form
a coalition under a National Council of Resistance. Arie was accompanied
by Captain Beukema-toe-Water, who was to become his
deputy in the field. The other members of the party were Cornelius
Fortuyn and Adrian Mooy.
On 27 September Ebenezer reported that an accident had occurred
during the drop and that Arie was suffering from severe concussion
and was still unconscious. His three companions were uninjured. The
Dutch section made repeated enquiries about Arie's recovery. Each
time Ebenezer assured London that he was making good progress.
On 4 October Ebenezer reported that Arie had died suddenly and
would be buried on the Steenwijk moor. He added that Arie would
be given a worthy memorial after victory was won.
Between October and November the Dutch section received a number
of messages from Captain Beukema, who had taken over the Erica mission.
Beukema extolled the progress which Jambroes was making.
On 16 October the Dutch section instructed Beukema to return to
London for consultations and arranged with Ebenezer that he should
be picked up by motor torpedo boat.
On 30 October Ebenezer reported that Beukema had been drowned
while waiting for a pick-up on the coast.
On 1 November the Dutch section sent a message appointing
Cornelius Fortuyn, one of the two remaining survivors of the Erica
mission, as Beukema's replacement. He was to act as political coordinator
in the field.
122
A tally at this point showed that between September and November
gventeen agents had been sent into Holland, most of them to help
ie build-up of the Secret Army. These included three agents (one of
|em a WT operator, Tomato) sent in on 22 October, followed two
ights later by four more (including WT operators Chive, Celery and
i-occoli). They were reinforced on 28 October by two more agents
including WT operator Cucumber). Containers full of arms and
icplosives were dropped with each of these missions.
Jambroes now had more than six WT operators at his disposal,
(eluding Chive, Broccoli, Tomato, Celery and Cucumber.
.^Towards the end of November the Dutch section decided to give
D important new mission to Akkie. (At this point the messages
pcame so convoluted that I had to make a precis of the precis.)
|0n 29 November the Dutch section instructed Trumpet to tell
ikie that he must contact Vinus (Levinus van Looe) at an address
(Amsterdam. Akkie was to ask Vinus to introduce him to members
^the Dutch Resistance Committee so that they could establish a
Bless link with London. The message also referred to a small photoi
which Akkie must produce to Vinus as evidence of his creden-
Trumpet confirmed to London that he had passed these
.ictions to Akkie.
i 6 December Trumpet sent a message stating that Akkie had
ti the photograph to Vinus but that Vinus had refused to
duce him to the Resistance Committee until he was given
ler proof of Akkie's credentials. The proof he required was for
;fBBC to broadcast over its Radio Oranje programme the name
ph'which Vinus had signed his last but one letter to London. The
itadcast must take place within the next forty-eight hours. The
(icfa replied that the broadcast would take place as Vinus had
g-JBiade a note in the precis asking Nicholls whether the Signals
»torate had any jurisdiction over the messages broadcast en clair
BRadio Oranje.
4 December a long message was received from Jambroes
ng that more than 1,500 men were under training in his various
• groups. He asked for supplies to be sent urgently, including
r, boots, tobacco, tea and bicycle tyres.
123
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
In the middle of December the Dutch section answered this request
by dropping in thirty-two containers in a single night.
Shortly before Christmas the Dutch section informed Ebenezer and
Trumpet that a special team was being assembled in London to assist
Jambroes to leave Holland. It would be dropped into the field early
in the New Year. Ebenezer and Trumpet duly acknowledged the
messages.
That marked the end of the 1942 traffic,
And of my last vestige of belief in the security of the Dutch.
I could have confined my report to four words: 'God help these
agents.'
Instead I wrote twelve pages and then drained them of feeling and
reduced them to four.
Some of my anxieties I could develop orally. A lot would depend
on Nicholls's responses to negative inferences and the content of the
Dutch traffic.
My own were unequivocal. I found the extent to which the Dutch
section relied on its anchor-men a total negation of field security.
Ebenezer, Boni and Trumpet had virtually become a clearinghouse
for the Dutch traffic. They not only knew all the principal operations;
in many instances they had helped to arrange them. There didn't
seem to be one wholly independent WT operator in Holland.
Nor was the potential damage confined to WT operators.
Groups of agents such as Marrow, Beetroot, Cucumber, Chive,
Celery, Turnip and Potato had become so interlocked that, if any
one of them were caught, there could be repercussions all the way
up to the Committee of Resistance and Plan Holland.
And if all this were conjectural, one thing was not. The pressure
under which the Dutch agents were working was there in black and
black for all to see.
Yet despite deaths by drowning, by exploding minefields, by dropping
accidents, despite every kind of difficulty, setback and frustration,
not a single Dutch agent had been so overwrought that he'd
made a mistake in his coding.
It seemed to me unarguable that the bulk of the messages had been
sent by the Germans and that the main question was no longer which
124
THE HIGH-PITCHED BLEEP
gents were caught, but which were free. I ended my report by saying
f much.
There was nothing more that I could do about Holland until
ficholls returned.
I renounced my Dutch citizenship.
uring my four days and nights of total immersion, eight indecipher>les
had come in from the rest of SOE.
125
TWELVE
A Shock Discovery
The ladies of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, otherwise known as
the coders of Grendon, had force-fed their eight indecipherables with
a diet of transposition-keys, and all but one of the invalids had
responded to treatment. The malingerer was waiting on my desk with
a curt note from the Grendon supervisor acknowledging defeat.
It was Peter Churchill who had thwarted them. By now irretrievably
set in his coding ways, Peter had become a classic example of an
agent in the field repeating mainly the same mistakes which he'd
made in training. He'd transposed three columns in the wrong order
at our Orchard Court session and had twice repeated the process
when he'd reached the field.
Unscrambling Peter's 'hatted'* columns required minor mathematical
surgery which Grendon was not yet equipped to administer.
I made a few calculations based on Peter's past performances and
plunged the knife in. The clear-text bubbled up like the man himself.
He was complaining to Buckmaster about his difficulties with Carte
(Andre Girard), who was promising SOE far more than he could
possibly deliver. Peter also reported that he was arranging new safehouses
for Odette and Rabinovitch. I telephoned Buckmaster to tell
him the message was out.
It was then that I got a Dutch buzz. Something warned me that I
wasn't finished with Peter's message; it had a relevance to Holland.
The idea was ridiculous and I attributed it to the Dutch incarceration
I'd only just left. Yet it niggled away as I tried to catch up with the
rest of the traffic.
* Trade jargon for misaligned.
126
A glance at the new symbols list increased my anxieties. It showed faat Ozanne (MS) was still director of signals and that Nicholls (MS/ \.) was still only his deputy.
A typical SOE power-struggle was now inevitable and I spotted he first signs of it when I visited Norgeby House. The whole building
lad been invaded by Grendon Signals officers. They were wandering
t6und its alien corridors in small bewildered groups - segments of Morse lost in the ether.
> On the ground floor two rooms were being knocked into one like a
ddiizoid in treatment. No one knew why. Some more Grendon techlicians
were holding a conference in room 52. Heffer emerged from it.
Idsked him what was happening. He didn't seem to hear me.
I.IOzanne came down the passage, looking more bemused than any- Ute, though it wasn't yet lunchtime. He took about as much notice
|6Ane as a tank would of a pebble and disappeared into room 52.
(Idutching a box of Mother's provisions, I rushed up three flights Istairs to my WOK-makers' garret in case they'd been dispossessed
F had begun to feel neglected. They were happily shuffling counters
d had missed Mother's cream cakes far more than they had me. \eysaid that a 'nice group captain called Venison' had called in to Ulow they were getting on! He'd helped them make two WOK-keys A they hoped he'd call again. I left them before my growing unease
JSut Nicholls spoiled their appetite.
Kle'd been away from Baker Street for almost a week now and I Rfi missing him badly. It was like being deprived of a night-light.
adecided that if I needed security symbols in order to function I'd Ha" return to the source of them.
Nrent home early.
ipenvelope addressed to me had been put through the letterbox bother had opened it, thinking it was personal. It contained a
feather and a typed card with one word on it: 'Shirker'. r distraught parents were convinced that our next-door neight-had
sent it. Only Ozanne deserved what was shortly to be put fa their letterbox.
ared my two inconsolables that a white feather was a marvel- Sbute to security and that their friend Jack O'Reilly would
127
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
thoroughly approve of it. I then disclosed to them what I was really
doing at the 'Ministry of Labour', that I was trying to prove to SOE
that the Dutch agents were caught, and that with Nicholls's support
I was hoping shortly to introduce a code called a WOK.
(I disclosed all this to them in my mind. But I'd been only a pride's
kick away from saying it aloud.)
I went to the swimming pool and swung fully-clothed across the
rings. My near lapse had given me a great deal to think about.
The need to justify and its sister frailty, the need to boast, were
lethal weaknesses in SOE, and the shock discovery that I was prone
to both started me worrying about the coders of Grendon.
The 'old hands' were by now as security-minded as they were ever
likely to be, but many of them would soon be posted to Massingham
and Cairo, and would be replaced by apprentices, I'd done all I could
to convince the newcomers that the duty of care which they owed to
all agents mustn't be relaxed on weekend passes or extended leaves,
but I knew that fledgling FANYs took a lot of persuading and were
unlikely to remember a word of what I'd said beyond the coach ride
to Grendon, if as far.
Heffer had once asked me to define a good security risk and I'd
replied, 'Someone who knows whom it's safe to be indiscreet to.' If
there was slightly more truth in this than in most pat responses, then
a bad security risk was somebody likely to confide in the wrong 'safe
someone'. None of us knew whom the coders talked to in their
off-duty hours.
An idea occurred to me in mid-swing: there was something which
might remind them for the rest of their coding lives that they must
talk to no one, and the more I considered it, the more promising it
seemed.
I realized that my next-door neighbours were watching me from
the balcony, and that if they were the feather-donors I owed the idea
to them. I waved my gratitude without falling in.
The Dutch section was more determined than ever to bring Jambroes
back to London for consultations.
Four agents now in the final stages of training were going to parachute
into Holland in the February moon period to help him to cross
128
panish escape route into France and Belgium. Their code-name :o be Golf, N section having exhausted its supply of vegetables.
; due to brief the Golf team within the next fortnight.
;ssages continued to arrive from Holland reporting the steady
ess of Jambroes's organization and the build-up of the Secret
r. The encoding was perfect.
Signals directorate's night-light returned to Baker Street and Heffer ie at the head of the long queue waiting to be guided by it.
cholls occupied a small office in Norgeby House which I hoped
:emporary. He took my report from me before I could say good
(ing and at once began reading it. He was interrupted a few tes later by a call from CD asking to see him immediately. He
lised to finish the report by the end of the day and to send for
s soon as he had considered it.
ree days later I still hadn't heard from him. It seemed a very
time for the jury to be out. When he finally sent for me on the
ling of the fourth day Heffer was sitting opposite him in watchful
dance. My report, now covered in red-ink annotations, was open
ie desk. There was a large grey folder beside it with most
let printed on its cover in block capitals. I couldn't remember
g one like it in SOE. Next to the folder was a map (which I
to be of Holland) with coloured pins stuck all over it.
diolls was studying this map with his eyes closed. Heffer was
ang Nicholls. I edged forward and tried to read the red-ink
(ations. They looked like a spider bleeding to death. I had an
at rapport with it. It was hard to believe that I was watching a
y trained Signals mind at work, but I knew that this stylistic
iolence was Nicholls at his most productive.
s opened his eyes and shot his first question at me:
td I established whether the Dutch WT operators were transmitlom
their usual operating posts or were they sending their mestfrom
new sites? If so, which were they?
aadn't even occurred to me to make direction-finding enquiries
l&mdertook never again to criticize my Signals colleagues for insularity. Heffer nodded his approval.
|holls picked up the grey folder without comment and read out
fc
I' 129
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
a list of the WT operators who'd previously been transmitting from
The Hague, Rotterdam and Amsterdam but who were now sending
their messages from Eindhoven, Utrecht and Arnhem. He quoted the
districts in these towns from which the traffic was being sent as well
as the date of each transmission.
These precise readings could not possibly have come from Grendon,
whose direction-finding facilities were rudimentary, and I was even
more curious about the source of that folder.
Nicholls now proceeded to minimize the significance of his discovery.

He had read all the Dutch traffic and was satisfied that the transmissions
from Eindhoven, Utrecht and Arnhem coincided with the
agents' accounts of their movements around Holland. The new transmission
sites were not therefore grounds for suspicion. He would
confirm this with the Dutch section at a general discussion on the
WT situation in Holland.
It almost cost me a lip not to interject that the 'accounts of movements'
around Holland might be coming from the Germans and that
the new operating sites strongly reinforced the grounds for suspicion,
but a glance from Heffer warned me to let Nicholls finish.
He agreed that the linking together of three circuits of agents was
appalling security, especially in WT terms, but doubted if this practice
was confined to the Dutch section. However, the Signals directorate
had no jurisdiction over the way that a country section dispersed its
agents as decisions of this kind were essentially operational. But he
was going to warn the country sections of the dangers of WT operators
being in a position to compromise the Signals security of other
WT circuits. He would make particular reference to Ebenezer, Boni
and Trumpet when he had his general discussion with the Dutch.
This was the second time he'd spoken about a 'general discussion',
and it worried me. There was nothing more specific than a lack of
indecipherables, yet it hadn't once been mentioned. A glance from
Heffer warned me to be patient.
Nicholls next fastened with a technician's relish on the plain language
messages broadcast to Holland over the BBC's Radio Oranje.
How and why did SOE use these messages? Was there a standard
procedure?
130
laid that all country sections had 'Voice of Freedom' facilities from
8BC to broadcast plain language code-phrases to their respective
tories. The rival French sections were the most prolific broad- ;rs and shared a BBC programme called 'Les Francais Parlent
Francais', which was about all that they did share. Other country
ons used similar programmes for the same purposes. If an agent
i as Peter Churchill, for example, wanted to borrow a large sum
loney in the field and the prospective lender doubted whether the
would be honoured by the British government when the war
over, Peter could invite the prospective lender to make up a
ence known only to the two of them, which the BBC would
equently broadcast on 'Les Francais Parlent aux Francais'. This
usually the only verification which the lender required. Plain
uage phrases were also used by the country sections for lastate
confirmations or cancellations of impending operations. My
ety about these phrases was that their wording was arranged in
n-codes. If the Germans recorded them and matched them with lode-groups which they intercepted, it would make the poem-code
i easier to break.
Icholls pointed out that there were a great many plain language
ises and that the Germans would have to be very skilful indeed
inpoint which messages to anagram. I asked if there were any
on to suppose that they lacked this skill. He replied that there
I't, but there was every reason to suppose that they lacked the
power. He conceded the security risk and I said that the real ^er was to change the poem-code.
B reminded me sharply that this was not the object of the present
Bssion and I apologized for its irrelevance.
fethen glanced at my report and, with the persistence of a steam»
capable of flight, asked why I had put an asterisk against the
At section's en clair message to Vinus (I had forgotten to erase V\
©Epiained that this message was intended to confirm to Vinus |he could introduce Akkie to the Committee of Resistance. If the
|L
pans were reading the traffic and Akkie was taken to the CommitJfcResistance,
how far behind him would the Germans be? ||holls stressed that these were operational matters for the Dutch
131
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
section to decide upon and begged the question as to whether the
traffic was being read. The Signals directorate couldn't interfere with
any country section's right to broadcast messages to its agents via
the BBC.
I replied that I wasn't concerned with the country sections' right
to broadcast but with the agents' to survive.
He looked at me thoughtfully and I tried to make a draw of it. We
both knew that the moment had come for the main event and I was
fascinated by the way he prepared for it.
He read and then re-read the last page of my report, which included
the statistics of other country sections' indecipherables. He looked at
the pins spread across the map and seemed to be searching for one
in particular. He referred to his folder and then looked again at the
map.
He wasn't playing for time. To all of us in Signals, he was time.
But from the very start of the meeting I'd sensed a private conflict of
some kind in Nicholls. I also sensed that Heffer knew what it was. I
glanced at Heffer. He was deep in Nicholls's thoughts.
Nicholls closed the report, the folder and his eyes. His next question
opened mine: When an agent in the field sent an indecipherable message,
did I regard this as proof that he wasn't caught?
I assure him that I didn't.
'In that case, why are you trying to prove the converse?'
I respectfully suggested that this question was a soriticism.
'A whatY
I quoted the classic example of a reductio ad absurdum: 'If a man
with one hair is bald, then a man with ten thousand hairs must be
ten thousand times as bald.'
'You haven't answered the colonel's question,' said Heffer, his first
contribution to date.
Before answering it, I tried to imagine how it felt to be in a prison
cell in Holland hoping that someone in London was awake. I put to
Nicholls that, when an agent sent an indecipherable, I didn't take it
co mean that he was in good health but that his coding temperature
was normal. But the Dutch were behaving abnormally by any known
standards of code conduct, and I'd left it very late in the day to spot
it. If Nicholls had lost confidence in me, then I must accept the
132
lequences. But if he still retained some, then he must accept that
e was something grievously wrong in Holland for not one Dutch
it to have made a mistake in his coding. So wrong that only the
lormal or the purblind could continue to ignore its implications.
is not begging the question as to whether the Germans were
ing the Dutch traffic. I was begging for answers which would
ify me that they weren't. Until those answers were forthcoming,
>uld continue to believe that the Germans were sending at least
e of the traffic and nothing was going to budge me from that
tion, least of all a polemic.
couldn't tell from Nicholls's expression whether I had said too
h or too little. Heffer was studying the map.
icholls lifted his telephone so sharply that I wondered if I was
it to leave SOE the way I'd arrived, under armed escort. He
ared tea for three. It would be undrinkable but it didn't seem
artune to offer him Mother's.
effer decided that it was time to join the party and (typically)
:d the most perceptive question yet: if the Germans were running
raffle, they were doing it very skilfully - so surely it would have
irred to them that they must send us some indecipherables to
r any suspicions which London might have?
•epiied that perhaps we weren't the only ones who made mistakes.
did I know the calibre of the Germans we were up against in
land or even who they were.
» casually as if he were telling us the date, Nicholls said that we
; likely to be up against Giskes, a most experienced Intelligence
er. I asked whether Herr Giskes was experienced in the ways of
poem-code. Nicholls assured me that he was, and invited me to
adn why he hadn't sent us any indecipherables.
aid that Herr Giskes and his assistants must have decided that any
als organization which was stupid enough to use the poem-code
I't likely to be bright enough to notice the absence of indecipherI
and
was even less likely to draw the proper conclusions from
Itat put a stop to what was becoming a chat. Clasping both hands
hd his head and looking like a radio mast about to earn its keep,
|®Us delivered his summation.
133
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
My report had drawn his attention to what was potentially a disastrous
WT situation in Holland, if it weren't one already, and had
given him a great deal to think about. He was most concerned about
the lack of indecipherables and could offer no explanation for it -- but still couldn't decide if I were lending too much weight to it.
However, it certainly could not be ignored and he was most concerned
about what practical steps could now be taken. We still had no positive proof that any agents had been caught. Nor could I even say
how many agents I believed were caught or specify their names. I
could only put question marks against some of them, and question
marks were not enough for an organization which hadn't been educated
in WT security, a deficiency which he would shortly remedy.
The immediate problem was that if my theory had substance, all
the Dutch agents might be caught. What was he to recommend to
the Dutch section? That it should cancel all its operations or only
some of them? And which ones? And for how long? Until more
tangible evidence could be found by the Signals directorate? It just
wasn't on. The most he could do until this evidence was found was
stress the Signals directorate's concern about the general WT situation
in Holland and the overloading of operators such as Trumpet, Boni
and Ebenezer. We would also press the Dutch section to explain what
steps they took to confirm that their agents weren't blown. But if I
or anyone else in Signals found anything which could be regarded as
proof positive, he would raise it at the highest level.
To me he was the highest level, but it wasn't getting me very far.
I told him that I very much wanted to examine the early codegroups
which had been received and decoded by C's wireless station
before June '42 so that I could establish the length of the keys the
agents had chosen and see if there'd been any significant changes in
their coding style.
He promised to do his best and made a long note on his pad
which seemed out of proportion to the request. He then proceeded
to develop his ideas about educating the country section in Signals
security but I was no longer listening.
Nicholls had paid us the compliment of thinking aloud and I
responded to it by thinking about him. The breadth of his knowledge
was extraordinary. He knew where to get information about the
134
cation of WT sites, he knew the latest direction-finding techniques,
; knew Giskes's name. I admired him more than ever and he prob)ly
knew that too. Yet almost all his observations had been slanted
from the viewpoint of a wireless expert, with codes a poor second.
nd I was convinced that there was some problem to do with the
utch which was greatly worrying him but which he wasn't going
i mention in front of me.
And perhaps he had to become controller of Signals before he could
op worrying about his directorate's jurisdiction. Tommy ignored
,e proprieties when the safety of agents was at stake and I wished
at he were in the Dutch section. But then I wished that the Chairman
: the Awkward Squad were in every section, especially Signals.
Nick exchanged a long glance with Heffer and told me that he had
He more thing to say. I was to report back to him at four o'clock
is afternoon for a very important meeting.
J tried to explain that this afternoon was my last chance to talk to
>me new coders before they were sent to Grendon.
'Then it's their lucky day because you'll have to cut it short. Four
clock sharp, please.'
He then ordered me to say nothing to the Dutch about my suspions
until the grounds for them were firmer. The burden of proof'
IS once again on me. I carried it to the door.
B couldn't conjecture what SOE wouldn't consider conjectural. A
Beipt from Giskes for the Dutch agents perhaps?
I left just in time to avoid the tea.
|t.»
|r It135
THIRTEEN
The Biter Bitten
The fledgling FANYs who were waiting for me in Norgeby House
had arrived when SOE was at its busiest.
Although the country sections had only two squadrons of aircraft
to share between the lot of them, they were determined to make next
month's moon their fullest yet. According to Tommy, even the mice
in Duke Street's basement were increasing their dropping operations.
He was going to descend on France in February, no matter what. He
was to accompany his Free French friends Commandant Passy (the
head of de Gaulle's secret service) and Pierre Brossolette on an
important mission into the Northern zone which was code-named
Arquebus.
SOE's other main event (it was wrong to think in these terms;
there was no such thing as a supporting bout) was Operation Gunnerside.
This was the code-name for the Norwegian section's second
attempt to blow up the heavy-water plant at Vermok. Six agents were
to be dropped into Hardangar Vidda to reinforce the Grouse. They
were to be led by Joachim Ronneberg. The Grouse meanwhile were
sheltering in an eyrie in the Barren Mountain.
The Dutch were contributing Operation Golf, and Major Hardy
Amies was doing his dapper best on behalf of the Belgian section.
Buckmaster was sending in four more missions and even neglected
little Denmark wasn't completely out of it. Hollingsworth was trying
to mount a new team to help Hammer ('the preacher') to explain to
Danish patriots aching for action why neither London nor Stockholm
was yet in a position to send them arms and equipment.
The country sections had every right to take for granted that the
code department would be ready to cope with the sharp increase in
136
agents' traffic. None of them knew that in mid-February many of
Grendon's most reliable coders were being posted abroad. This would
, place an even greater strain on the new recruits who'd be expected
;• to lighten Grendon's work-load as soon as they entered the coderoom.
? They'd also be expected to provide the nucleus of a coding staff for
•Station 53b, which was now being built at Poundon. We could rapidly
assess their coding potential but would have no time to discover
: whether they were good at keeping secrets, and I was determined to
.i-try out the noxious idea which had occurred to me whilst swinging
u©n the rings.
The experiment was too difficult to carry out alone, and I'd asked
bright young signals sergeant named Tom Blossom to help me
aduct it.
o give it the best chance of working, the girls had been kept
ting for over an hour in a freezing basement without a chair
veen them, a window to jump out of, or any other creature coms.
The room was Norgeby House's equivalent of the Barren
lountain.
I conversation ceased as I opened the door. I walked unmolested
e far end of the room and pressed a switch. The immediate result
an electric thunderstorm which startled the lot of us. It was
llowed by a replay of the last hour's dialogue which bright Sergeant
ssom had recorded.
Tie girls took a little while to realize that it was their own voices
y were listening to, and I put this down to the quality of the
arding rather than poor reaction-time. The ill-lit room was rapidly
ainated by a corporate blush.
s the recording progressed, it became clear that we had a most
nising intake. Their free-flowing language, scatological humour
picturesque imagery promised well for the agents' ditty-box.
sy looked everywhere but at me, which was in every way underable
-
and suddenly seemed reluctant to look at each other.
ig that their embarrassment was about to peak I turned the
ie up.
' then listened to a lengthy debate concerning the nature of the
litments which had made me late. The consensus was that I'd
'having it off with the FANY supremo in a variety of positions
137
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
(specified) though they were by no means unanimous as to whether
she had kept her brigadier's hat on. They would decide when they
saw me whether the transpositions had been single or double.
They next dealt with the state of the 'piss-house' in which they
found themselves waiting. They blamed the lack of chairs on my
failure to realize that FANYs had fannies - which one of them proposed
to remedy in a time-honoured way. If it were the beefy one
against the wall it could prove a terminal experience.
I switched off halfway through because we had limited facilities
for coping with seizures, but I noticed as I did so that one young
blusher sighed with relief. I switched it on again briefly.
Someone (I presumed it was she who had sighed) was going to ask
her father to put down a question in the House of Commons. There
were some interesting suggestions as to how he should phrase it. I
switched off and prepared to address a hostile house.
I could see from their bemused expressions that the shock of being
recorded, a process still new to most of us, had done much of my
work for me and I had to be careful to avoid an anticlimax.
I moved cautiously towards them to give myself time to think of
what to say. I was suddenly aware that the room smelled of talcum
powder and dry rot, the basic ingredients of my average address.
I spoke to them for twenty minutes, which seemed twice as long
as the forty I usually allowed, and then asked if they had any questions.
They stared at me in silence, far too bright to give me a chance
to identify their voices. I left the Barren Mountain with no external
injuries.
The girls were then taken upstairs to a small ante-room and were
recorded again while they waited for their transport. Their tones were
muted, their dialogue vivid. 'What a little bastard.' was the mildest
comment.
I intended to play this second recording to them until I suddenly
found myself listening to the sound of what, until this moment, had
been my favourite voice. The girls hadn't been the only victims of the
Signals directorate's toy. I had also been recorded. The biter was not
only bitten, he was savaged by his own words. I was convinced that
what I'd said had been a model of disciplined persuasiveness. I couldn't
believe what I now heard, courtesy of Sergeant Blossom:
138
''You've been kept waiting in a cold room to make you tired and
irritable because when you're tired and irritable you grow careless,
and when you're careless you're talkative. I promise you that, before
you've been with us long, you'll be limp - but next time you feel like
talking, remember that the Germans have recorders too — where even
you wouldn't think of putting them.
'Each of you has a crowd of admirers you've never met. Don't get
excited - they're Gestapo admirers and they welcome you today just
as much as I do. They hope you're green enough to want to boast.
You'll have plenty to boast about. You're important people. You're
going to be told about things you shouldn't know - but we can't
help ourselves, we have to trust you.
'Every department has its secrets - you in Codes will read all the
secrets of all the departments. If you talk about any of them, a man
will die. It's as simple as that. Now, I'm never going to mention
security to you again.
'You think you're tired, don't you? Then imagine how tired an
fagent feels who's had no sleep for three nights and has to encode a
jynessage. The Germans are all around her so-called safe-house. She
m supervisor to check her coding. All she has is a vital message
h she must transmit. Now, I'm going to put a question to this
e. Hasn't that agent a right to make a mistake in her coding?
if she does, must she pay for it with her life? Must she come
he air again to repeat her message, whilst German directionng
cars get her bearings?
ou look puzzled. Is there something you want to ask? No? Perno
one's told you that many of our agents are women? Members
mr corps and about your age. I'm thinking of one in particular.
week the FANYs at Grendon tried four thousand keys to break
her messages and succeeded on the four thousandth and
You'll find that double-transposition is easier to joke about
crack.
e's an indecipherable down there with your names on it. It's
a Belgian agent who's completely blown. He's sent us a message
s his co-ordinates - that is, where he can be picked up. A
r is standing by to get him out. The message won't budge.
'clock this evening he's due to come on the air and repeat it.
139
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
If he does those cars will close in. We will lose that man - just as a
few weeks ago we lost a young Norwegian named Arne Vaerum,
code-name Penguin. The SS shot him while he was retransmitting an
indecipherable message.
'Must that happen tonight if there's any chance that you can help
us to prevent it? Well you're going to have that chance! You will be
told what to do by your colleagues. You will find that they are tired,
tense, sulky - and the salt of the earth. None of them is quite sane
- but don't worry, you'll soon be like them. Sleep in the train going
down - sleep in the coach that waits at the station - sleep when you
shake hands with your commanding officer - but don't sleep in the
code room.
'If any of you finds the key that breaks this message, you all will have broken it. You're part of a team now, an indispensable
part. Sorry about the recording - if you can think of a better way
of reminding you never to talk about your work please tell me
now.
'I'd like to end with a word of advice. Don't grow old too quickly
and don't stay young too long! Good luck - good coding, and remember
... you're the only hope that agent's got!'
I erased my speech from the tape - or believed that I had but should
have known my Signals colleagues better. Much talcum powder and
dry rot later I discovered that the boys in Signals had not only made
a separate recording of it; one of them had kept a copy.*
The Grendon supervisor phoned to say that the Belgian indecipherable
had been broken after 4,000 attempts. The new coders had not
yet arrived.
There would be some compensation awaiting them. They would
cut their baby teeth, if they had any left, on an indecipherable from
* A few years after the war ended (I shan't give away who won it - for those who may
not know) the BBC asked Sir Colin Gubbins, as he had then become, and me, to broadcast
a tribute to the FANYs on a programme called 'Now It Can Be Told'. Tom Waldron, the
producer of this programme, wanted me to contribute one of the talks I'd given to the
FANYs, using as nearly as possible the same words. A signals technician who'd seen an
announcement of the broadcast sent me a copy of the original tape. I'm sure he meant it
kindly. Not to include it in this book would justify today's equivalent of a white feather,
if there is one, so out of obligation to my former colleagues and as a further tribute to all
that the FANYs had to endure, it has been quoted in full.
140
Mr Einar Skinnarland. He was the greatest ager of coders in the
business.
The Signals directorate had more departments than most directorates had members, and was by far the largest group in SOE. The 'important
meeting' convened by Nicholls was attended by representatives of its principal branches. The only person missing from it was the
night-light himself. He was in conference with the Executive Council.
I hoped he wouldn't burn himself out.
^ Everyone at this Signals convention was an expert in some branch ^communication, a fact which the small-talk brilliantly concealed.
he most senior officers were in the front row. They were the comanding
officers of Station 52 (the training school for agents). Station ^ (Grendon) and Station 54 (the training school for Signals personel).
They were all majors.
I' The next row was full of captains, representing the Research and
Ittpply stations. I sat behind Dansey and Owen on the government ppk benches.
llNick strode in five minutes later, and addressed us with the sureness
Itouch which he displayed to everything but codes. He made clear ftt the meeting had two objectives. The first was to weld us together 1^ one unit, which the size of the room had almost achieved. The
|ond was to ensure that all of us understood the reasons behind
ll.major changes which were about to take place. He then outlined
ifit these changes were to be.
i> noticed that several of the military acquired a special kind of llor, a shade of promotion-grey. I just about survived the first
touncement.
fs of February, agents' messages were no longer to be received t circulated by Dansey's distribution department. They were to be fibuted by a newly formed HQ Signals Office in room 52 at geby House.
tnsey seemed relieved that his distribution room could concen- ' on main-line traffic. But I was rigid with anxiety. A new distrio department might make it impossible for me to intercept ning messages in secret French code. eholls went on to describe in detail the workings and function
141
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
of this new Signals Office. It would be staffed day and night by signal
masters and FANYs, and would act as a clearing-house for all agents'
traffic. It would be open at all times to the country sections, who
would be encouraged to visit it. The senior supervisor would deal
with their queries and liaise on their behalf with the appropriate
Signals departments.
The front row of the stalls nodded its approval. The next major
change affected Grendon. It was to hand over the Dutch traffic to
Station 53b when it opened in March.
This should not cause Herr Giskes any inconvenience.
As if he'd picked up the thought, Nicholls announced that new
direction-finding equipment was to be installed which would enable
Grendon and Poundon to take precise readings of WT operators'
transmitting sites. As a further precaution all new WT operators were
to be 'fingerprinted', which would provide us with an accurate record
of their operating styles.*
What had started as a talk had become a proclamation. He now
introduced a series of non sequiturs which he expected to be followed.
A new kind of WT set was to be produced by Station 9. It had a
powerful generator which would allow an operator to transmit without
having to use current from the mains, which the enemy could detect.
The signal-planning department had been instructed to produce
new signal-plans which would allow operators to stagger their frequencies
and transmission times. The BBC's en clair broadcasts could
in future be monitored by Major Buxton, who was to be appointed
SOE's liaison officer with the BBC. He then made an announcement
which got less audience response than any so far.
The OSS was planning to start its own WT station under the
auspices of SOE and we would have to give the Americans every
possible cooperation.
A gadget called a 'squirt transmitter' was now in production. It
would enable agents to transmit messages at very high speed. The
enemy would find it difficult to intercept 'squirt traffic' unless they
had similar equipment.
* The outcome of 'fingerprinting' is dealt with in the appendix, and is my sole justification
for having one.
142
I glanced at Heffer, who had engineered the arrival of this Signals
essiah. He had the proprietorial look of a satisfied sponsor.
Nicholls now dealt lovingly and at length with the technical changes [»ich were to be introduced to improve the quality of the Home
Eition's transmissions. The congregation started taking notes, anxi\s not to miss a single miracle.
I made one too: 'How long, oh Lord, before he talks about codes^ achaps the new equipment was so efficient we could dispense with
cm.
} tried to project the thought of WOKs to the man on the mountain
te he was imparting his vision of a new kind of wireless mast.
Insular as ever, I drifted off - and landed in Holland. None of
Use innovations, excellent though they were, would help me to (we that a single Dutch agent had been caught. Even the early
Ifcch code-groups, if Bletchley ever produced them, were unlikely
(Sirove that Herr Giskes was SOE's most regular penfriend. I wished ?ould put a face to him. I imagined him as an Ozanne with brains.
||thought of Ozanne brought me sharply out of the Dutch clouds. pScholls had changed the subject and the audience was fidgeting
pbtly so it might be important.
|k Security and Planning Office was to be started in Norgeby House.
P»rincipal function would be to monitor the security of agents' it. lloped that whoever did the monitoring would be able to spare
sent for the Dutch because I was about as much use to them
luirt-transmitter which had run out of squirt. The answer did
' in further research, it lay in making something happen. But t? Could we set a trap for the Germans? Could we give them a
e to make a mistake without alerting them to our suspicions?
we take the code war to them?
1 into the trap of trying to devise a 'Plan Giskes' while Nicholls
d on, and suddenly realized that there was something different
'the room.
fas completely silent.
? proclamation was over and everyone was looking at me! Had
t thinking aloud?
ted a glance at the Messiah. He wasn't exactly angry but his
143
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
sigh was a gust of wind which I felt in my marrow-bone. 'For the
benefit of those at the back who may not have heard me,' he said, 'I
will repeat what I have just announced.'
As of February agents' codes were to be split entirely from mainline
codes. The two departments would function as separate entities.
Main-line codes would remain under the control of Captain Dansey,
assisted by Lieutenant Owen. Agents' codes would be under the control
of DYC/M, who would be answerable directly to the head of
Signals. DYC/M would move to Norgeby House in February. One
of his functions would be to act as field-cipher representative in the
Security and Planning Office. DYC/M's symbol would remain
unchanged when he took up his appointment as head of agents' codes.
I realized that I was DYC/M.
That February was only a few weeks away.
That I was scared out of what remained of my wits.
And that Nicholls, Dansey and Owen were smiling at me.
144
FOURTEEN
The Last-Chance Month
be Signals directorate invaded Norgeby House in the first week
(•February despite sporadic resistance from the sitting tenants. To
iryone's surprise (except Nicholls's) the new distribution departBt
took over from the old without one message being delayed and
iy two going to the wrong country sections, and the new Signals
See was a great social success as country section officers, who
ely had a chance to meet each other, found it an excellent place
iH: quiet chat. Occasionally they came to it for Signals enquiries.
|4 been allotted a room on the first floor and awarded custody of
|3'etary with sunset-red hair. Her name was Muriel Eddy and she
S the equivalent of a typing pool.
learned on my first day that there was a drawback to my new
(Bamodation. I had to share it with two formidable ladies who'd
Mbrought into SOE by Nicholls, presumably as part of his unlisted
Bvements.
rs Charlotte Denman was a short grey-haired chain-smoker who
fcfluent French and whose job was to liaise with the French,
French and Belgian sections.
Bt Molly Brewis was a large red-faced chain-smoker who spoke
rItalian and Dutch and whose job was to liaise with the country
»•in preparing signal-plans.
enforced intimacy became a serious risk when I discovered
i ladies had had a longstanding professional and personal
lip with Nicholls and that they were his close confidantes.
nt most of their time filing his secret reports and conferring
; him in his office. They always took their confidential files
145
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
The ladies and I were rapidly bonded into a unit by SOE's most
common denominator - ignorance. The subject we knew least about
was the newly formed Security and Planning Office. None of us understood
its function until a memo from Nicholls informed us that we were the Security and Planning Office and would shortly be sent our
terms of reference.
Our security to date consisted of the ladies' attempts to hide from
me what they were filing and mine to hide from them that I was
breaking secret French messages. There were few signs of any planning
and still less of any progress. But our terms of reference as
room-mates were clearly established: they pretended to take no notice
at all of what I was doing and I did my best to reciprocate.
We were not the only ones playing charades.
A spate of perfectly encoded messages arrived from Ebenezer,
Trumpet and Boni, telling the Dutch section what it most wanted
to hear.
The build-up of the Secret Army was steadily progressing. Akkie
was in contact with the Council of Resistance and reception committees
were being prepared to receive the Golf team which was to guide
Jambroes into Spain via the French and Belgian escape routes.
These escape routes, particularly the Belgian ones, were lifelines
not only for SOE's agents but for Allied airmen stranded in enemy
territory. If the Dutch agents were blown, it could lead to the escape
routes themselves being penetrated and the damage could be incalculable,
but I still couldn't provide what SOE would consider proof
that a single Dutch agent had been caught. Nor could I think of a
way to entrap Herr Giskes.
Over a month had elapsed since Nick had dangled the possibility
of introducing me to Tiltman of Bletchley to discuss my idea of giving
every agent an individual WOK printed on silk, but the miracle still
hadn't happened and I no longer believed that it would.
Nor had Nick allowed me to recruit more WOK-makers until
an all-clear had been given for the system to be adopted'. When I'd
asked him how much longer we had to wait for the siren to be
sounded, he'd assured me that a decision would be reached within a
week.
146
I didn't point out that a week was seven days longer than most
agents' life expectancy if we continued to give them poem-codes.
I had four more days to wait.
>A new menace emerged in the first week of February which threatened SOE with extinction. Since there had been only eighteen months' ^advance notice of it, it took Baker Street as a whole (which occasionally
it was) completely by surprise. That menace was C's determiiSBation
to expunge SOE from the Intelligence alphabet.
Ifo Although the state of the civil war between our two organizations yas supposed to be known only to CD, Gubbins and the Executive
Souncil, I was briefed on it by Heffer, from whom nothing was secret gxcept how to hurry.
|; According to the Guru, C's latest campaign to close SOE down, the us over or restrict our activities until we were operationally
entered had come to Downing Street's attention, and was soon to 6; fought out in Cabinet by our respective ministers. Our chief ftrnerman in this sacrosanct arena was Lord Selborne, the Minister .Economic Warfare. 'The Bastards of Broadway' (which was what K called C in rare moments of understatement) * were represented
)the Foreign Secretary, Anthony Eden. The key issue was SOE's s in the invasion of Europe, and the timing of the Bs of B's attack t inspired.
lAer two years of sustained effort but sporadic achievement SOE's libility with the War Cabinet, the Chiefs of Staff and itself was
higher than 84's with the tax inspector. Our political
euvres, forward planning and operational techniques were all
t, and the scale of our D-Day participation would be deterby
the Chiefs of Staff. This formidable body - accustomed
ing its battles by orthodox means - didn't share Churchill's
siasm for irregular warfare, and had refused to give SOE an
il directive setting out its terms of reference and operational nsibilities. Without this Intelligence equivalent of a banker's refer|»
SOE would have no chance of getting its proper quota of aircraft
(" headquarters were in a street called Broadway, which to our regret was in the
l of 'Westminster instead of New York.
147
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
and equipment and would be unable to fulfil its growing commitments
to the agents in the field or to their governments-in-exile.
If SOE was ever to get that long-awaited directive instead of a
winding-up order, it had above all to convince Lord Selborne - and
through him the War Cabinet and the Chiefs of Staff - that the Secret
Armies and Resistance groups it claimed to be forming not only
existed, but would be ready by D-Day to fulfil Churchill's mandate
to 'Set Europe Ablaze'. The Executive Council's hopes of obtaining
this proof centred on the prospects of thirteen men. The Golf quartet
was expected to bring Jambroes out of Holland; the Arquebus trio
to establish de Gaulle's leadership in France; and the six Gunnersides
to blow up a heavy-water plant in Norway. The vital thirteen were
now in the final stages of their training.
But there was one more major problem in this last-chance month.
The outcome of the battle with C was likely to depend on the
responses of the Americans.
C and SOE were competing for their custom and, in an effort to
acquire the bulk of it, CD had sent a telegram in main-line cipher to
Bill Stevenson, our man in Washington, and asked him to show it to
Bill Donovan, the head of OSS: 'SOE will be ready by february
AT THE LATEST TO MOUNT OPERATIONS INTO france,
scandinavia AND THE low countries AND I AM CONFIDENT
THAT THE february MOON, WHICH STARTS ON THE
14TH OF THE MONTH, WILL MARK THE TURNING POINT IN
european resistance.'
I did my best not to shout. 'Doesn't CD realize that the Low
Countries' security couldn't be lowerY He left without comment.
Until my appointment as head of agents' codes I'd been head of
nothing except a queue for a sweet shop, and the main advantage of
my promotion (apart from acquiring Muriel) was the ease with which
I was able to intercept secret French messages before they were sent
to Duke Street. The supervisor of the new distribution room, a FANY
sergeant I intended to head-hunt, had been told by her predecessor
that all incoming code-groups had to be checked by me as soon as
they arrived, and she usually had them waiting.
148
Returning to my office clutching Salmon's latest, I was dismayed 3 find Nick seated at my desk. He was also clutching a document diich he held out to me in silence.
It was a curt note from Gambier-Parry, C's head of Signals, stating |at the early Dutch code-groups which I wanted to examine were
o longer in his possession as all such material had been sent to Aptain Dansey in June of last year. We knew this was a lie because >ansey had meticulously listed every item he'd received from C and
liere'd been no record of any Dutch code-groups.
Nick said with a hint of sadness that it would be pointless to press
»ambier-Parry further - the reply would be the same.
;:He and the ladies then went home early, presumably to their separjfee
destinations, and I stared round the empty office like a small boy ^detention who's forgotten his offence. There were no indecipherIttes
to break, no agents to brief, no coders to interview, and Nick's
feords were locked up. My only company was Giskes, and I could
I'longer bear his smirk.
('hurried upstairs to give the WOK-makers their cream-cake tea,
} spent ten minutes trying to relieve their monotony, which prob-
^ made it worse.
;then had to cope with my own, and faced the shock discovery
f I was stale.
|fcadn't taken a day off since June '42, and wanted to escape from
t]pe routes, blown agents and everything to do with SOE for the
I'bf the afternoon.
e nearest bolt-hole was a flat in Park West to which daytime as were always welcome, but Major O'Reilly's flat was in the
corridor, far too close for the peace of mind essential to that Cular comfort.
yfilm perhaps? If it didn't deal with the war. Fred Astaire and his
y foot. Ginger Rogers, were doing their nimble best to Follow the
g| .at the local cinema. But it wouldn't be much of a respite to hear:
We joined the Navy
To C the world
And what did we C?
We saw the C.
149
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Besides, two agents in training were using Irving Berlin's lyrics for
their poem-codes and we probably owed him royalties.
I knew all the time that I was going to the only haven which had
never failed me in times of distress, where the answers to everything
were to be found if one knew where to look for them, and where
agnostics like me could safely say their silent prayers . ..
84 Charing Cross Road.
150
FIFTEEN
The Bolt Hole
?'
y; 'Giving a small boy the unsupervised run of a rare
bookshop can put the future of both at risk. In my
case, it also jeopardised SOE's.'
Author to himself en route to 84, February '43
SKtortuous road which led from childhood to Baker Street had Sin at 84 Charing Cross Road.
ttry Saturday morning from the age of 8 onwards I was taken ather's shop (which was doing too well to open on Saturdays)
text he could start teaching me the profit margins of rare books,
|l few elementary tricks of the trade. As compensation, every
Way afternoon Mother took me up the road to the Astoria cinema |k occasionally showed films we both understood.
(Stsone Saturday morning when I was 8 and a half my higher
ion began. Father proudly showed me a signed 1st edition of rid Bug by Edgar Allan Poe which he had just acquired. It had
10 shillings and was to be priced at £850 as the Americans
irtain to want it. Although I wasn't supposed to waste time {the merchandise, the moment he left to attend to the overnight
ffled through The Gold Bug hoping that at that price it might
a few interesting pictures. Instead I found myself reading ? message in code which had to be broken because it contained i of a buried treasure. Poe used dozens of words which I ierstand including cryptograph but I knew what a crypt ^Pd learned at school that Crippen had once crept into one, ;and crept out again.
later I needed no cinema. All I wanted was a code of my
151
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
own to break. I remembered Father telling me that every book worth over £5 had its cost written in code at the back so that his staff could
tell at a glance how much discount to allow awkward customers but
he hadn't explained how the code worked. 'Time enough for that,'
he said. For me that time had now come.
At the back of The Gold Bug C/MN was written in pencil. Since
it had cost £6.10/- - father never lied about anything except his
consumption of whisky - then surely C must be 6 and RUN 10. But
Poe would want to know how Marks & Co. dealt with the rest of
the figures.
I examined the backs of 20 other books, and found that the only
letters written in pencil were ACEHKMNORS.
Whatever the code was, it couldn't be as difficult as Poe's or Father
and his partner Mark Cohen couldn't have used it. Could it have
come from a word? The letters C E H N 0 spelt COHEN. That
left AK MRS-MARKS. 84's code was MARKSCOHEN
12345 67890
But could I have solved it if I hadn't known that C was 6 and RUN
10? It was time to find out.
My grandfather had a rare bookshop (E. and M. Joseph) at Leicester
Square and my cousins an even rarer one (Myers and Co.) in
Bond Street, and as I was usually welcome at both premises the next
time I visited them I took the opportunity of inspecting their codes.
They were far harder to work out than father's but I was eventually
able to tell him that their profit margins were even greater than
his.
From that moment onwards, I had two ambitions: to know as
much about codes as Edgar Allan Poe, and one day to become a
writer, probably of horror-stories, possibly of films.
The shop stood on four floors at the corner of Cambridge Circus,
and one of its regular patrons stood on four paws outside the Palace
Theatre opposite. He was a benign bulldog who was the constant
companion of a lady named Doris. Doris was a short-term companion
for those who could afford her prices. She was an avid collector of
Rudyard Kipling as well as passing clients. Whenever she left her beat
to enter Marks & Co. she insisted on being served by the most
152
lysically prepossessing member of Father's staff, who was also its st salesman, Frank Doel.*
On the rare occasions when Doris hadn't enough cash on her to quire the Kipling she coveted she would ask Frank to reserve it for
a" and return sometimes a few minutes later, sometimes a few hours 'depended on the weather) to complete her transaction.
Although 84 was respected by book-collectors around the world id numbered amongst its other distinguished clients a member of the
lyal family (who liked his pornography bound in vellum), Charles kaplin, Bernard Shaw, Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke, Michael X>t, MP (who later saved 84 from demolition by having a preserBtton order placed on it), the British Museum, scores of universities td (most important of all to Marks & Co.) the booktrade itself |,
firm indulged in one activity of which its loyal customers knew (flung.
lAarks & Co. were kings of the book ring. They were one of the pleading firms of antiquarian booksellers who never bid against
It other in the auction rooms. One member of the ring would be
|wed to buy a book for a nominal sum, say £100. As soon as
lauction was over the five conspirators would hurry to their sst safe-house - usually a Lyons tea shop - and conduct a private
on. If one of them bought the book in question for £500, the iprofit would be divided in cash amongst the other four. This
i was called a 'knock-out', and Frank Doel once blew an entire
on.
mous heart specialist named Evan Bedford instructed him to
1 to £300 for an edition of Harvey's De Motu Cordis, the earliest 1 book on the circulation of the blood, which was coming
auction at Hodgson's. Too busy with his own Harley Street om to attend the auction himself, he telephoned Frank at home ' night demanding to know why the book had been sold to
r dealer for £200 when he'd authorized Frank to bid three.
Confided that it had been sold in the knock-out for £650. The lysician immediately undertook to have the whole question of
t's concept of personal service, which was altogether different from Doris's, I-new dimension when Helene Hanff discovered him in 1949.
153
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
the book ring raised in the House of Commons, which caused cardiac
arrest amongst its five participants.
The then editor of The Times Literary Supplement, himself a collector
of rare books, was anxious to avoid a scandal and invited the
five leading firms of antiquarian booksellers to sign an undertaking
that they would take whatever steps they thought necessary to put
an immediate stop to the book ring - if such a thing existed. The Big
Five arrived at the editor's office a quarter of an hour earlier than
expected and, whilst waiting to sign the undertaking, held a knockout
in the ante-room. It was far better security for them than a Lyons
tea shop and the tea was free,
I asked the normally discreet Frank why he'd told a client about
the book ring.
'Well, you see,' he said, 'when the phone rang the wife and me
were having a jolly good fuck in front of the fire.' He hesitated. 'And
I don't think too well on my back.'
He seemed to be thinking well enough on his backside as he sat at
his desk at the far end of the room lotting up the day's takings. He
was closely watched by Father's partner, Mark Cohen, who had
reluctantly agreed when the firm first made its bid to enter the elite
world of antiquarian booksellers that it should be called Marks &
Co. rather than Marks & Cohen. The two men made one perfect
bookseller, Mr Cohen providing the knowledge. Father the acumen.
They'd worked together for twenty years without a written agreement
because they understood what a partnership meant. Mr Cohen, who
had two daughters but no son, regarded the war as a welcome postponement
of his partnership with me and asked somewhat nervously
if I had been given the day off by the Ministry of Labour. I was
relieved that my domestic cover-story hadn't yet been blown.
Monitored all the way by Mr Cohen, I wandered along the densely
packed shelves picking up a handful of peacetime whenever I stopped
and reluctantly putting it back, going from Jorrocks's Jaunts and
Jollities to Gibbon's Decline and fall, from Johnson's Rasselas to Goldsmith's Deserted Village, and Baker Street didn't exist until I
came to Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome.
I'd stood alone with Brave Horatius, the bloody Captain of the
Gate, for twelve consecutive hours because a Belgian agent with
154
1 urgent message had spelt his name 'Horateous'. And that same
•eat with an even more urgent message had spelt the Etruscans who
old scarce forbear to cheer with a 'k', and it had taken the girls
id me 16,000 attempts spread over three cheerless days to discover
J decided to cede the ground floor to SOE and visit the rarities
(Stairs, which included Father.
As I passed the one part of the shop which was artificial - a door
wered in the spines of books to conceal the fact that it led to the
ananned basement - Mr Cohen and Frank were engaged in some
IDplex research. The till was two and sixpence short.
jpniy established clients - or newcomers who survived Frank's scru^,
84's equivalent of a pass - were allowed to climb the staircase
ch led to Father's office and the two floors above. The CD of
pks & Co. was seated at his desk with his back to Doris. He was
arbed in collating 84's latest acquisition - a first edition of Vedute
sma, which included the rare volume of Careen, the Italian
is. According to Father, good booksellers never turned the pages
oks, they strummed them, and he was strumming Vedute now
'glorious tune of its asking price.
.quired about the state of 84's health, which was more important
a than his own, and he pointed to a pile of orders from dealers
rivate clients around the country and from America. He then
By produced a letter on War Office notepaper from Field Mariord
Alanbrooke and whispered, as if it were a state secret, that
is Chief of the Imperial General Staff. The letter started 'Dear
|and was written as from one field marshal to another. I knew
inbrooke had a passion for books on ornithology and that
( of his library had come from 84. Now he wanted Father to
i a Gould's Birds of Asia in mint condition and was enquiring
|tfae price.
renting that Alanbrooke was a real 'Mensch' with no side to
U, Father retrieved the letter from me, picked up his pen (he
rite more quickly than most people could type), and began
ng his reply.
the powers of thought transference:
155
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Dear Alanbrooke,
My boy tells me that at C's behest your Chiefs of Staff committee
is continuing to withhold an official directive from SOE and that
if it doesn't deliver one soon in mint condition this splendid organization
may be obliged to shut shop.
I am at a loss to understand why C has such animus towards
SOE. Would I be wrong in conjecturing that there's an Intelligence
ring in existence with a knock-out in Broadway?
Please accept Gould's Birds of Asia with the lad's compliments.
Yours, etc.
Why was Father looking at me as if wondering whose son I
was?
The second floor was the magic floor, the healing floor, my refuge
from St Paul's School and my hope in years to come. It was called
the Occult and Masonic department.*
It consisted of a large outer office, a small inner one, and George
Plummer, whose specialized knowledge established the prices of
occult and masonic books around the world.
Like most outstanding booksellers Plummer had little formal education
and seldom read for pleasure. He had a particular flair for
masonic books and was honorary adviser to the Grand Lodge library,
yet he wasn't a Freemason himself because Catholics were forbidden
to join secret societies other than their own. This didn't prevent him
from taking Father into the inner office and rehearsing him in masonic
ritual until he was word-perfect.
Of all the bizarre clients who'd visited Plummer's domain there
were three who interested him most. One, an erudite mystic called
Aleister Crowley, charged his devotees exorbitant prices to watch
him perform a popular ceremony not in front of a fire but on top of
an altar; the second was Edward Everett Horton, an American comedian
who appeared in several Astaire-Rogers films, collected books
on tintinnabulation, and confessed to Plummer that three Dominican
bell-ringers were constantly at work in his head; and the last was his
* So was the Foreign Office from time to time.
156
ployer's son who, as a small boy of eight, had perched on a stool his desk and broken his first code.
[ didn't want to be reminded of that episode but found myself
ncing at the space which he'd cleared for me. It was occupied by
x)py of Bourke's Scatological Rites of Mankind reserved for Mr
irry Edwardes, the president of the Society for Psychical Research,
i I wondered why he was interested in excremental practices. I left love for Plummer saying how sorry I was to have missed him and
Biaged not to sign it DYC/M.
the third floor glowed like the face of a young FANY who's
| broken her first indecipherable. It was full of books in exquisite
|dings and they hardly seemed to have aged a wrinkle since they'd
Ridcd like mannequins in their former salon, the palace of VerIles.
Ten minutes in their company was a day in the sunshine. 0ie fourth floor was Marks & Co.'s war room. Everything in it
l-'locked away in bookcases whose doors it was impossible to see ough. Behind the dark glass were thousands of coloured plates, fepages and frontispieces - spare parts which could be transplanted [.any book which needed them, none of them more spare than I. hat the hell am I doing hiding from Giskes in a bookshop? aid goodnight to Father, who inspected me thoughtfully to see
ji'd borrowed. He warned me to make sure I closed the front
behind me as Cohen and Frank had already gone home. Presumfhe
two and sixpence had been accounted for. hdn't visited the basement but there wasn't much point; I was
e'already. Turning to the front door, I realized that for the first
hi my life I had the shop to myself.
Wind myself sitting in the chair which Freud had once occupied ig that we might make contact through anal osmosis. I'd wel- ^as concept of a Plan Giskes.
Iced at the table where he'd examined all that 84 could produce
ft on the subject of Moses. There was a solitary book on it,
th the special conceit of those who roam bookshops in search r know not what, I felt it was waiting for me.
s a reproduction of the 1455 Gutenberg Bible, the first book m movable type. I was drawn to all incunabula and would
early printed books my personal duchy if ever I ascended
157
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
to the throne of 84.1 leafed through the Bible, surely the most comprehensive
Situation Report ever written.
Halfway through it I felt the beginnings of a Dutch buzz. Where
was it coming from? - Gutenberg and Freud? What did the man
who gave us movable type and the man who gave us immovable
type-casting have to do with Herr Giskes?
The buzz was in the stomach now, and it was similar to the one
I'd had when I'd finished breaking Peter Churchill's message,
Freud, Gutenberg and Peter Churchill. - What nonsense was this? . . . but for God's sake and the Golf team's cling on to whatever it
is that's trying to break through to you in your old man's shop..,.
The solution when it finally emerged was so obvious that the small
boy who'd broken his first code on these premises would have spotted
it at once and gone home for some pancakes.
I knew now how to give the Germans a chance to go wrong.
The idea was dangerous and could easily backfire. I would have
to wait for exactly the right moment before launching it.
But at last I knew what the right moment was.
The benign bulldog was peeing on the pavement with stylish intensity.
Doris was looking around as if to charge someone for the exhibition.
I was tempted to have a short talk with her about Rudyard Kipling
and one or two more pressing matters but Father was watching from
the window.
She examined me briefly then turned her attention to a better
prospect.
I said a silent thank-you to the shop which hadn't yet failed me
and hoped that Plan Giskes wouldn't fail it.
158
SIXTEEN
I A Question of Y
l
|e February moon was due on the 14th of the month, and not even
(Could postpone it.
(iware that the minister needed demonstrable results to put before
|fcCabinet, the whole of SOE was moonstruck - every country
j^on, every service department setting out to prove that it could
. its stated targets. But there was one forlorn non-contributor to
•enetic countdown. As late as the morning of the 7th, I was still
ng to be told when the Arquebus, Gunnerside and Golf missions
I spare time for their final code briefings; still waiting for Tiltman
ne other expert to give his verdict on WOKs; and above all, still
ing over Plan Giskes - a brainchild with a missing chromosome.
^discovered a stunt in its growth for which there was only one
(ly, and it wasn't likely to arrive in time to stop the Golf team
|; being dispatched to Herr Giskes. No matter how costly the
^, I had to wait for the Dutch section to cancel a message to one
^agents. Then, and only then, could a trap be set for the Germans
i even SOE might regard as conclusive.
latest news arrived from the field, most of it bad, country
s often had to cancel messages which were already at the
s station waiting to be transmitted. They then issued new ones,
I Were themselves subject to cancellation. But for a variety of
i some of them valid, they usually left it until the last possible
tto arrange these cancellations and twice in the past month
aght country section officers had contacted overworked
i signalmasters and cancelled the wrong ones.
led to put a stop to this, Nicholls issued a memo to the
159
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
country sections which was to have far wider repercussions than even
he could foresee:
TO ALL COUNTRY SECTIONS FROM MS/A
Despite repeated requests to the contrary, when Country sections
need to cancel messages which have been sent to the wireless station
for transmission to the field they are continuing to contact Grendon
directly, often when an agent's schedule has already begun. This
practice must cease forthwith.
In future Country sections must notify all cancellations to the
Headquarters Signals Office, and refer all requests for information
to the Signals Office Supervisor or to a member of the Headquarters
staff. I repeat there must be no further direct contact between
Country sections and the wireless station. A.R, [Acknowledgement
required]
This proclamation gave the station the seclusion it needed, ensured
a better service for the country sections, and allowed the head of the
code department to put it to uses for which it hadn't been designed.
I instructed the Signals Office supervisors that I was to be notified
as soon as any country section cancelled a message to the field. I
stressed any because I didn't want them to realize that I was concerned
only with the Dutch. The sooner that cancelled message was in my
hands the more quickly I could prove that the Dutch Resistance was
in Giskes's.
At the start of a week which I'd built round the briefing of the vital
thirteen, Mr Einar Skinnarland put me to the test for the first time
on the present premises.
The great miscoder was still working in the Norsk Hydro at Vermok,
still waiting for the Gunnerside and Grouse teams to mount
their attack on it, still sending most of his messages (this was one of
them) via the British legation in Stockholm. His latest indecipherable
had travelled well and its bouquet filled the office for most of the
morning. It was vintage Skinnarland and its text was as heady as its
coding. Skinnarland warned London that unless the attack on the
plant took place during the next moon period the Germans would
160
ready to start shipping large quantities of heavy water to Berlin.
; read the clear-text to Wilson over the scrambler and he shipped we quantities of appreciation. He then added something which
ttered: the Gunnersides would be available for briefing in two rs' time.
^ few seconds later Duke Street telephoned: the Arquebus mission
uld be available for briefing in two days' time. Quick was the next to telephone: the Dutch agents would be avail- is for briefing in two days' time.
Ehe verdict on WOKs was also expected in two ds'. t..
Idecided to spend the next forty-eight hours thinking only about Sand. N;'
ting a trap for Giskes was in itself a trap; so much could go wrong.
llvinced that while I was having buzzes in my head the Dutch
|tes were having buzz-saws put between their teeth. I found it hard
: dispassionately. Yet it was never more necessary. The greatest
n of all was my superiors' responses to Plan Giskes.
liough I still didn't understand SOE-mindedness, I would stake
re of WOKs that if I disclosed my intentions the plan would
ted. This was more than a buzz; it was a total conviction. I > decide whether to launch the plan without authority and risk
Eisequences or abandon it and try to think of another, and until
olved the dilemma it would be unfair to brief a single agent, he thirteen.
1 there was a moral issue. Did I have the right to risk the lives red agents who'd be no further use to Giskes if he saw through i and realized that we suspected they were blown? ' absence of a coin I tossed my conscience, which weighed far
1 the sixpence I lacked, and it produced a generalization -
t that could be expected from such a rarely used source: I
whatever gave the greatest possible number of agents the sible chances of survival.
eant going it alone, which had one insuperable drawback. erience.
needed technical guidance from Nicholls and Heffer but
: them for it because once they knew what the plan entailed
161
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
they'd be duty bound to ask CD and Gubbins (and possibly the
Dutch) for 'permission to proceed', and it would be safer to seek it
from Giskes.
Yet there was certain information which I had to have, and if I
couldn't get it by picking brains I might have to pick locks.
There was a document in Nick's desk which I was determined to
see. During my critical debate with him about the perfection of the
Dutch agents' coding he'd frequently glanced at a distinctive grey
folder unlike any that I'd seen in SOE. By consulting this folder he'd
been able to state quite categorically that the Dutch WT operators
who'd previously been transmitting from The Hague, Rotterdam and
Amsterdam were now sending their traffic from Eindhoven, Utrecht
and Arnhem (as their messages proclaimed). He'd also been able to
pinpoint the districts in these towns from which the traffic was being
sent as well as the dates, times and frequencies of every transmission.
I'd wondered ever since where that folder had come from but now
had to do much more than wonder. It was essential to find out not
only the folder's origins but what other information it contained, and
my one slender hope (apart from petty larceny) was the menaces
whose office I was obliged to share.
I glanced across at them as they huddled together in menace territory
preparing for a session with Nick. It would be useless to ask
them outright as they'd never volunteer anything he didn't want me
to know; I'd have to devise a 'Plan Menace'.
I escaped to the privacy of the loo with a message in secret French
code, and a few minutes later was able to thank Ie bon Dieu that it
had been properly encoded. Returning to the comparative civilization
of the office, I saw not only one distinctive grey folder but a whole
pile of them being carried towards me in the menaces' arms, the safest
strong-boxes in Baker Street. I held open the door for them and took
advantage of their astonishment to make my bid. Targeting Mrs
Brewis, the more maternal of the two, I asked if the folders had come
from the stationery department as they had pockets inside, and would
be useful for carrying WOKs if the occasion should ever arise.
She said she hoped that it would, but no, they didn't come from
the stationery department but they very soon might as Nick had got
so used to them when he was working at Y. After a sharp glance
162
A QUESTION OF Y
her sister menace she left the room in disgrace. She had given
he largest tip ever received by a doorman, but I'd have some
ulty in spending it as I hadn't even heard of Y, let alone the fact
Nick used to work there.
pounds person who could enlighten me about Y never appeared until
aenaces had left, and his timing didn't fail him today.
Heffer entered the room in his customary slow motion, I at
asked him what Y did. Like all gurus he could only be startled
ther gurus but he did have to shelter for 	a moment behind his
t have we here?' expression.
'ell, well,' he said. There was a long pause while he lit a cigarette
;azed out of the window at the nether regions of Norgeby House.
is impossible to tell whether he intended to answer. 'Well, well,'
peated, and kept me in suspense for a puff or two longer.
renty minutes and as many surprises later I knew that I'd asked
a-st sensible question of 1943.
e early thirties, when Top Secret meant what it said, Y was the
»cle of the Top Secret list and, officially, didn't exist. Y specialized
gging diplomatic, military and other sensitive wireless traffic
igh its worldwide chain of listening posts, and in monitoring
: and wireless traffic from embassies. Because of the nature of
ork, Y was staffed by technicians of exceptionally high calibre, r of whom were recruited from the Post Office engineers. Y
:ed closely with C but was an independent arm under the control
e chief signalmaster of the Royal Corps of Signals. Heffer said
with noticeable pride. Nick had been a member of Y since the
thirties and had been responsible for setting up Outstations in
tine and India. In 1938 Y had been able to intercept high-speed
tan wireless traffic using special equipment which was still on
ecret list. Heffer pointed out that because of Russia's vast size
poor communications, Moscow had to depend almost entirely
®eless for maintaining contact with its outlying territories. In
ame year (1938) Y had monitored the wireless traffic of the
lan armed forces while Hitler was still declaring his peaceful
Hons. Y's then head had privately briefed Churchill about the
My build-up, but the great man wasn't yet in office and no
163
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
one took him seriously but Hitler. Soon after the briefing Churchill
thundered a warning to Parliament without disclosing his sources.
Y's impact on the war was immediate, massive and ongoing. Warning
me that he knew only the fringes of its activities, Heffer said that
Y was monitoring vast quantities of enemy and Allied traffic with
equal dispassion, forecasting the battle-plans of Panzer divisions from
the volume of traffic passing between units, and logging the wireless
messages of German agents while they were still practising at their
training schools in the fatherland.
Glancing at my littered desk, Heffer added that Y was also expert
at detecting 'dummy traffic' used for deception purposes. Glancing
at my waste-paper basket, he commented that Y logged all WT traffic
and retained it for future reference, no matter how insignificant it
might have appeared at the time,
Exhausted by his exposition, he sat down and studied my face too
closely for comfort - his as well as mine.
Blowing a smoke ring, a warning that something especially important
was about to emerge, he told me that Y sent most of its intercepted
material to Bletchley for breaking or to C for information.
Access to Y's archive was strictly limited to British organizations as
it was logging Allied as well as enemy traffic. One smoke ring suppurated
into another and there was a pause.
He was on the point of adding something when I made the mistake
of saying, 'What, Heff?' He shook his head, retreated inside it, and
could no longer be monitored even by Y.
I knew that the next few minutes could determine the outcome of
Plan Giskes and that there must be no more involuntary 'What,
HeffP's. If it were Y's policy to log all WT traffic 'no matter how
insignificant it might have appeared at the time', then somewhere in
its massive archive there might be copies of the early Dutch codegroups
which C claimed to have sent us.
There was no point in fencing with Heffer; he enjoyed it too much,
knew me too well. I asked him outright how long it would take to
set up a meeting with Y.
He looked at me with an expression which reminded me of Father's
when a valued client once burned a hole in a sheet of Caxton, and
rose from his chair as if it were scorching him. He told me that such
164
A QUESTION OF Y
leeting was out of the question, that Y never dealt with polyglot
anizations like SOE, and that for both our sakes I must immediy
forget this entire conversation. Well, well,' I said. 'What have we here?' I certainly didn't have
iet because he'd closed the door behind him. \ut what did we have here?
Why had he told me about Y in such detail if I couldn't make the
htest use of it? Was there something he especially wanted me to
iw which he'd tucked away in guru fashion amongst his throw- ly comments? If so, what was it?
md if so plus one, what was so wrong about wanting to ask a
questions of Y?
"here were thirteen agents to be briefed tomorrow. How many of
n would we lose because C, Y and SOE, for all their brilliancies,
n't the common sense to make common cause?
omeone in the corridor gave a raucous laugh.
was probably Herr Giskes.
I;,
I--
165
SEVENTEEN
Arquebus, Gunnerside
and Golf
One of the most difficult tasks in SOE was persuading country sections
to arrange appointments with agents. It was even more difficult
persuading them to change them.
But not for everyone.
While I'd been skirmishing with Heffer, my red-haired right hand,
Muriel, had rescheduled my entire briefing programme with humiliating
ease. I was to see Arquebus and the Gunnersides in the morning
and their Golf team in the afternoon. The lunch hour was reserved
for contingencies.
I had no idea what an arquebus was and looked it up in the
dictionary. It was an early type of portable gun supported by a tripod.
I knew that Tommy was the tripod, and that the two big guns he
was supporting were Colonel Passy, the head of the Free French
secret service, and Pierre Brossolette, a founder-member of the Conseil
National de la Resistance. It was typical of Tommy not to have
mentioned that he was the first British officer ever to be invited to
take part in a Free French mission, the biggest compliment Duke
Street could pay an Englishman, especially one belonging to SOE.
Since he was too modest or security-minded to discuss his role
in Arquebus, I consulted Charlotte Denman for further and better
particulars.
The testy little menace understood the complexities of our rival
French sections even better than she understood Nick's, and went to
great lengths to prove it to me.
According to the t.l.m. (testy little menace). Arquebus was to be
dropped into the Northern zone of France, which was German occupied,
the South being controlled by the puppet Vichy government.
166
The mission's first objective was to contact the growing number of
independent Resistance groups whose political differences prevented
them from working together, and weld them into the nucleus of a
Secret Army. Arquebus then had to estimate this army's potential as
a paramilitary force, and persuade its leaders to serve under one field
commander who would receive his instructions from London. Once
this was accomplished, Arquebus next had to establish under what
circumstances (if any) the active but volatile Communist groups
would be prepared to co-operate with the Secret Army.
The unexpected presence of a British officer at these vital negotiations
would demonstrate to the French as well as to SOE that (in
Tommy's words) 'both sides had finally noticed they were fighting
the same war'.
From the moment that Passy, Brossolette and Tommy (code-name
Sea-horse) landed in France they had a major PR job to do, and if
ever a public figure needed one it was Tommy's idol, General 'Moi
je suis la France' de Gaulle.
This proud, arrogant self-proclaimed embodiment of the croix de
Lorraine (the Free French symbol), disliked by Churchill, distrusted
by Baker Street (the ultimate compliment), complained with all his
Gallic fervour that the British were habitually discriminating against
him and his followers. He was particularly incensed at having to get
SOE's consent every time he wanted to dispatch a Frenchman back to
France, knowing that no such strictures were placed on Buckmaster's
agents except by the Germans. Barely tolerated in London, not yet
established in France, he was engaged in a battle for survival of SOE
vs. C dimensions with his formidable rival General Giraud. The prize
was control of all French military, paramilitary and resistance forces.
Giraud had the backing of the Americans while de Gaulle had to
make do with SOE's, and the success of the Arquebus mission was
as important to his future as a directive was to Baker Street's. He
would have led the mission himself if he could, but he knew that it
could safely be entrusted to Passy and Brossolette.
Passy was almost as difficult to handle as de Gaulle. He had a list
of grievances against SOE as long as the Magna Carta, and I had
one against him. He was the principal advocate of the secret French
code.
167
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
One of Passy's justifiable complaints concerned French citizens
who'd escaped to this country. He knew that if any of them volunteered
to return to France they were sent to the Royal Victoria
Patriotic School to be screened by the British. But once there, they
were never offered to the Free French until Buckmaster had had first
refusal of them, and his head-hunters invariably selected the most
promising.
His even more serious grievance was harder to substantiate. He
was convinced that British agents in France were persuading French
citizens that they were being recruited to serve under de Gaulle
when in reality they were being enlisted for F section or for other
British interests (C). He wanted a British officer to accompany him
to France to witness the scale of this deception, discover who was
responsible for it and make a full report in writing, no matter what
his findings. Who better for this than the Chairman of the Awkward
Squad?
De Gaulle knew very little about Tommy but was prepared to
accept Passy's judgement that he was the only person in SOE who
could be trusted to tell the truth as he saw it.
I'd begun to understand why de Gaulle needed a code the British
couldn't read and wished I could oblige him.
I thanked Charlotte for the trouble she'd taken and offered to teach
her how to break indecipherables any time she wanted.
As a courtesy to Passy I'd offered to conduct the Arquebus briefing
on Free French territory instead of in Dorset Square, and Tommy
had readily accepted. With shoes shined, curls disciplined and larynx
sprayed to give body to a voice which Mother referred to as my 'deep
brown melter', I set out for Duke Street - often called Puke Street by
members of F section.
I had only two legs of Arquebus to brief because Pierre Brossolette
had already left for France. I was sorry to have missed him as he
owned a bookshop on the rue de la Pompe and we could have compared
notes on Ie knockout.
I checked the most important item I was carrying - a Churchill-sized
Havana which I'd stolen from Father's humidor ('they breathe more
easily inside there, my son'). I hoped it would help Sea-horse to
168
ARQUEBUS, GUNNER8IDE AND GOLF
reathe more easily inside occupied France. I'd also written a code?em
for him but suspected that he'd £nd the cigar more acceptable.
A Free French sergeant examined my pass as if I'd just printed it,
doke briefly into a telephone (my name sounded better floating in
U-lic), and then reluctantly allowed me to proceed upstairs.
; Tommy was in a small ante-room surrounded by half a dozen Free
tench officers. General 'Moi je suis' stared down at them from the
all looking slightly less censorious than he did at Dorset Square.
ommy introduced me to Capitaine Manuel, Passy's second in comgmd,
and then led me down a short passage to Passy's office.
(Charlotte Denman had spoken of Passy with awe, all the more
Ife-inspiring because she so rarely had any, and I'd learnt from her
|tt his real name was Dewavrin and that he'd taken his nom de
^erre from the tube station at Passy. Nick had once described him
i 'cold fish' without disclosing where he'd sampled him.
ly first impression of him as he rose from behind his desk was
; he had the energy of an express train out to break a record, and
Biental quality of a barracuda with a high IQ. Tommy introduced
as SOE's 'chef de codage', which impressed me more than it did
iy. We locked eyes for a moment and I was relieved when he
fed away that a stye hadn't formed. I suspected that he was trying
UK-cordial.
|bere was an incoming message on his blotter which looked like
Hone in secret French code which I'd broken in the toilet. He
•d it, then rose to his feet, frowning from his engine to his
ge compartment. He announced he had to leave and offered to
'•to Dorset Square for briefing if I wasn't here when he returned.
'ok me a little while to realize that Tommy and I were alone.
.God, Tommy, what a powerhouse.'
should see him on a good day,' he said proudly.
s seeing Tommy on a good day. He was so relaxed it was
ing. Puffing away at his cigar, he asked for WOK news, and
un I was expecting a verdict within twenty-four hours, though
: know from whom.
•ucted me to stop worrying as you couldn't keep a good
i, that progress of any kind took twice as long in SOE as
; else, and that I must push on with all my other codes which
169
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
were on the boil. I'd not said a word to him about the codes which
were incubating, but then, that was Tommy.
He waited patiently for the chef de codage to get on with his job.
I showed him a WOK which had been produced on waterproof
paper. He examined it as if he had nothing else on his mind, then
gave a brief nod which was his seal of approval. I told him that as
he was the first person to have seen a WOK, I wanted him to be the
first agent to use one, and nobody but the coders of Grendon need
know if he did.
He thanked me for the offer but declined it. He wouldn't accept
anything which wasn't available to all agents. Nor did he think he
should use an original poem for his code even if I'd brought one with
me. He felt sure he'd send fewer indecipherables in some verses by
Verlaine which he knew by heart.
I told him that if Sea-horse sent any indecipherables I'd ask Buckmaster
to break them.
'Good,' he said. 'It's time he learned French.'
He reached for a pencil and paper to show that he wasn't claiming
exemption from coding exercises. I asked him to encode a message
at least 300 letters long and he nodded approvingly.
His coding instructor at Beaulieu had said in his report that Tommy
had arrived at the school 'already a first-class coder', and I knew that
the exercise was academic. He numbered his transposition-key as if
he were climbing a ladder to Barbara's window.
The next time he did any coding he'd be in occupied France. That
was his goal, his ambition, his WOK, and I was glad for his sake
that he was in sight of achieving it.
I had never met anyone I trusted so completely or whose trust
I valued more. I remembered the long nights when he'd helped me
to break indecipherables without even asking who'd sent them,
and the encouragement he'd given me to stand up to Ozanne. It was
hard to believe that he would no longer be on call and I wished
that bright Sergeant Blossom could arrange for me to ring him in
France.
He finished his exercises without a single mishap, and when he
gave me his work for checking, I found that I was the one who'd
made a mistake. He'd referred to Arquebus twice in the body of the
170
ARQUEBUS, GUNMTEHSIDE AND GOLF
message and each time he'd spelled it Arquebuse. I'd looked up the
wrong word.
, The former tripod listened patiently while I ran through the precautions
he'd heard so often at other agents' briefings: use long keyphrases,
try not to repeat them, free your language, send messages in
a mixture of English and French. Double-check your security checks.
' Nod and nod and nod.
I told him that we would soon be recruiting a bevy of FANYs licensed to use all their resources to make code-briefings as memorable
Its possible.
I, Nod and nod and nod.
I-1 realized that I was impinging on precious Barbara time, that the
Iriefing was over, and that I must say goodbye to the Chairman of
te Awkward Squad. We shook hands in silence. I was the first to
isengage because my fingernails were sweating.
t He put his hand firmly on my shoulder. * 'Well, Chef de codage,'
IS said quietly, 'congratulations on your new appointment.'
gj^And on yours. Merde alors, Tommy.'
fe'Your French is improving.'
I^You should hear it on a good day. Merde alors, Tommy!' I wasn't
(re if two 'merde alors' were as good as one 'mazzeltov' so I wished
|tn that as well.
lUnder my breath, of course. What there was left of it.
don had had no contact with the Grouse since their abortive
mpt to destroy the heavy-water plant. According to Skinnarland,
adiy man when he wasn't coding, they'd been hiding in the mouns
for the past four months and were thought to be starving. Two
ks ago their code-name had been changed to Swallow.
he new attempt to blow up the Norsk Hydro was even more
gerous than the first because the Germans had had time to prepare
|fc, and its outcome was even more important as they were known
stockpiling heavy water. SOE's attacking force consisted of
unnersides, the Grouse and Mr Skinnarland himself, who was
red to blow his cover.
t*s still there. Tommy. Hope you know it.
171
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Wilson was waiting for me in the hallway of his Chiltern Court
flat. He was looking more harassed than Pd yet seen him and asked
me to stand by for a quarter of an hour as the Gunnersides were in
the final stages of a briefing which he now had to attend himself.
He told me to make myself comfortable in his office - a technical
impossibility - and hurried into the briefing room.
I was convinced I knew who was conducting that briefing and
preferred to stay in the hall to see who emerged.
Over the past two months a spate of Top Secret telegrams in mainline
cipher had been exchanged between Wilson and Major Malcolm
Munthe, SOE's man in the Stockholm legation. The messages concerned
the chief engineer at the Norsk Hydro, Professor Jomar Brun,
who was uniquely placed to advise on the new attack and was fully
prepared to do so.
With Munthe's help, Brun was smuggled across the Swedish frontier
a few weeks ago and arrived in Stockholm bringing with him
hundreds of photographs of the Germans' latest fortifications, charts
of their patrol systems and a detailed layout of the plant itself. Munthe
immediately arranged for the RAF to fly him to London, and Wilson
at once dispatched him and his invaluable data to SOE's camouflage
and special devices section, the Thatched Barn at Barnet. With all the
station's facilities at his disposal, Brun rapidly constructed a large
working model of the Norsk Hydro, and the Gunnersides had been
practising on it ever since at their Southampton training school under
his personal supervision. Brun's presence in England was the greatest
asset, apart from courage and Skinnarland, which the Grouse/Gunnersides
had.
The fifteen-minute wait slouched into thirty and the thirty into
forty-five. I was well into contingency time and began to worry about
the Golf briefing, an appointment I was so reluctant to keep that I
was determined to be early for it.
Wilson finally emerged from the briefing room accompanied by
two men. I recognized one of them as Colonel Bjarne Oen, chief
Intelligence officer on the Norwegian General Staff, a key member
of Wilson's brains-trust. The other was a bushy-haired civilian who
was talking in undertones which he appeared to have difficulty in
hearing himself, and if he wasn't the professor I was Ozanne.
172
ARQUEBUS, GUNNERSIDE AND GOLF
Wilson apologized for the delay and said that the Gunnersides were ow ready for me.
;I tried to look as if I were ready for them, and hurried towards ie room where four months ago I had briefed the Grouse.
he six Gunnersides were Joachim Ronneberg, the team leader, Birger
tramsheim, Fredrik Kayser, Knut Haukelid, Hans Storhaus and .asper Idland. They sprang to attention with the same immediacy as ie Grouse, projected the same aura of indivisibility, and might just
| well have been called Haugland, Helberg, Kjelstrup and Poulson. 31 wanted to present them with a working model of a briefing officer ^ felt too pedestrian to conduct any traffic - a private joke which
|used me to laugh out loud. I realized that the tension of my next
Sefing was building up on the Gunnersides' time.
|They responded to their coding exercises as readily as the Grouse
|d, and I focused on Knut Haukelid's bowed head, unable to believe It I was in the same room with him.
ie'd been an active member of the Norwegian Resistance since 10, and was one of the audacious trio which had blown up the unarine base at Trondheim. This same trio had helped to create
shuttle service of fishing smacks known as the 'Shetland bus'
|ich ferried agents between Scotland and Norway. After the
lldheim raid Haukelid had escaped to the safe harbour of the
Jash legation in Stockholm, and SOE's harbour-master, Major
pithe, had helped him to reach London. But the other members
> trio - Sverre Midskau and Max Manus - had been captured.
kau was feared dead, but Max Manus threw himself off a train
l was taking him to concentration camp, found his way to Stock,
and with Munthe's help would be arriving in London in a few
i.
at man Munthe was an invisible presence at every Norwegian ag, and at every operation. Nor were his activities confined to
linavia. He'd transformed the Stockholm legation into a tpoint for SOE's finances and communications, and its appar|
limitless resources were at the disposal of agents in Eastern s, the Low Countries and France. He'd also started a training
m Sweden so that would-be Resistance fighters who'd been
173
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
smuggled across the frontier could return to their own countries to
act as wireless operators and saboteurs.
The Swedish authorities were aware of his extra-curricular activities
(he was assistant military attache) and showed their country's strict
neutrality by allowing anyone in Sweden with the inclination to do
so to sing the German National Anthem in public. Occasionally
Munthe was one of them.
I'd met him when he'd called at Dansey's office to discuss mainline
and agents' codes. He was younger than his traffic suggested, in his
middle to late twenties, a Scots fusilier whose appearance in a well-cut
kilt caused the main-line coders to flash messages at him he couldn't
fail to decipher. After the meeting I asked him if he were related to
Axel Munthe, author of The Story of San Michele. Our Malcolm was
his son. I'd offered to smuggle him across the frontier of 84, where
a first edition of his father's masterpiece had pride of place in my
father's legation. One day, perhaps.
The Gunnersides were proving to be slow, methodical and
unadventurous coders, with Haukelid in the lead by half a message.
At this rate of progress there was a real danger that I would be
late for the Golf team's briefing, but I wasn't prepared to hurry the
Gunnersides. Time was all I could give them.
A limpet on the hull of Haukelid's message seemed to have come
unstuck and he was checking it carefully. That was the sign of a good
coder. The others were labouring on.
So was I. My confidence was seeping away like sixpences in a
fairground, and I knew the reason that made it even worse.
I'd caught myself committing the briefing officer's worst crime: I'd
thought about my next briefing in the middle of my present one, and
still couldn't stop it.
Nor could I stop worrying about Plan Giskes. The operation would
be so much safer if I could have access to Y's records, followed by
a technical session with Nicholls and Heff.
The Gunnersides were ready, and I heard myself telling them to
check each other's messages. Returning to the present, I then checked
their checking, and suddenly was on my feet talking security.
I would have kept them there all day if I could. Anything to postpone
the next briefing.
174
realized that they were looking at me with the courteous resigion
which was the Norwegian equivalent of a fidget. They had let
off lightly. Any officer who briefs entirely by reflex should be
wn up at the Norsk Hydro.
ily job here was done. Shoddily. Perfunctorily. But done.
left Chiltern Court for my final briefing of the day, no longer sure
were right about anything except the cost of being wrong.
175
EIGHTEEN
The Coding Cabaret
Unless I'd misread the situation in Holland, I was on my way to meet
four Dutch agents who were already blown.
Over the past two months eleven messages about their impending
drop had been exchanged between London and Trumpet and Boni,
who were at the very top of my list of suspect operators. Trumpet's
circuit was now organizing their landing grounds and reception committees.
The elusive Jambroes was said to be eagerly awaiting them,
but the elusive Giskes was just as likely to be.
Nick had strong views (which I'd canvassed) on the best way to
handle the Golf team: it must be a normal briefing in every way and
on no account must the agents suspect that we had any special anxieties
about them. Nor must I give them code-conventions or security
checks which weren't already in use in Holland because if the agents
were caught and forced to disclose them, the Germans might be
alerted to our suspicions about Dutch agents generally.
He agreed that each member of the Golf team could safely be given
a set of questions with prearranged answers and he would ask the
Dutch section to prepare them at once so that the agents had time
to learn them by heart. He would make clear that the same request
was being made to all country sections in case the Dutch felt singled
out. I suggested he made sure that the Golf team were not told each
other's questions.
I'd had such a rare feeling of security when he'd referred to 'our anxieties . . . our suspicions' that I'd nearly disclosed Plan Giskes to him but the Executive Council had summoned him just in time and
it was still a secret between me and 84.
The briefing was to be held in Bickenhall Mansions, which was a
176
regrets away from Chiltern Court. Major Blizzard and Captains
ham and Killick, the three people I most wanted to avoid,
ged from the briefing room just as I arrived. They were escorting,
'ere being escorted by, Colonel Elder Wills, who topped the bill
iy briefing. He was commanding officer of the Thatched Barn at
.et, where he and his gifted technicians, some of them ex-convicts,
;d huge quantities of currency, travel passes and work permits
iat agents like the Golf team could survive in occupied Europe
they perished by the poem-code. He and I knew each other by
licks but had never spoken - an achievement we saw no reason
iminish. After a whispered conversation in which I heard him
the magic word 'Guilders', he left.
iptain Killick was the first to notice me, and signalled the glad
gs to his colleagues. This was the first time that I'd faced them
group, and togetherness was what they projected. Nothing could
lade them that their traffic was blown, and if I'd told them that
of their agents had ever made a mistake in his coding, they'd
sent a message to the field asking why not.
izzard thanked me for coming at such short notice, and Bingham
d if I'd like some coffee - a substantial improvement on the sietrable obstinacy with which he'd responded to my countless ie calls about Ebenezer's security checks.
iciining the coffee as I'd sampled it before, I enquired how long
could allow me with the four Golfers. Blizzard and Killick
»nged puzzled glances, and Bingham finally explained that there
n't four Golfers, as I'd put it. Golf was the code-name for Broad's
W.T. operator, and the other two agents I was going to brief
I Hockey and Tennis. They had common objectives but would »te independantly.
ipologised for my mistake and continued to think of them as the
team. But it was Bingham who'd misled me in the first place, not for the first time.
tfhout pausing for breath (for which I couldn't blame him as it
Inghly unpleasant) he rattled off the code-names, field-names and Sanies of the four agents, and said that they were waiting for
I the briefing room.
lit was the moment I'd been dreading. I'd prepared a special
177
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
performance for the Golf team and wasn't sure that I could carry it
off. I was even less sure that I had the right to try.
Blizzard asked if I would like Bingham or Killick to attend the
briefing.
If I accepted his offer I couldn't proceed with my act, and nearly
said, 'Yes please'. But instead I said that providing the four of them
spoke English I thought I'd be better off alone with them and he
agreed.
I hurried to the briefing room before either of us changed our
minds, but paused outside the door to review what I was letting
myself in for .. .
The target of today's proceedings was not the four agents. It was
Giskes himself.
Until now we'd given our longstanding pen-friend no cause whatever
to credit anyone in the Signals directorate with the competence
to set a trap for him. We were still using the poem-code, still relying
on its security checks, still sending him top secret information. It was
essential to Plan Giskes that he continued to believe that he was
dealing with incompetents, and one way of giving him the necessary
reassurance was through the four agents waiting to be briefed.
I could do nothing to prevent their capture. But if they were interrogated
by Giskes about their final code-briefing, my conduct in the
next hour could do a great deal to allay whatever suspicions he might
have when Plan Giskes was launched.
In basic terms, the ideal impression they would convey to him was
that I seemed inexperienced, uninspired, and whatever the Dutch was
for a bit of a cunt.
The high master of St Paul's had frequently expressed this in Latin
in my end-of-term reports, and I was about to demonstrate just how
right he had been.
I strode in, said, 'Good morning, gentlemen, or should it be good
afternoon, nice weather for coding,' or some such inanity, then
strolled to the briefing officer's desk, brushed some dust off the chair,
some more off the desk, announced that I was allergic to dust and
sneezed three times to confirm it. The mopping-up operations took
a few moments to complete, then I straddled a chair and faced them.
Their names were Captain Jan Kist (Hockey), Lieutenant Gerard
178
Os (Broadbean), Lieutenant Willem van der Wilden (Golf) and utenant Peter Wouters (Tennis). But for the next hour, which I aid try to ensure that they didn't forget, their activities in the field
I no relevance. They had their missions; I had mine. All four ned very relaxed and had obviously enjoyed their session with Is. They had no idea what was in store for them.
ireaking them in gently, I made great play of unlocking my brief- i and searching inside it for something of utmost importance. They ned slightly surprised when all I produced was a copy of The tes, which I spread on the desk with great decorum. It was a (able prop which I intended shortly to use.
feegan the coding cabaret by enquiring if they had enough squared
gar, though there were reams of it in evidence; whether their pencils ft properly sharpened, which they clearly were; and whether the jfe.was good enough, which it obviously was. I then asked them fcicode a message 250 letters long - no, let's make it 300, why
|jr waited until they'd started and then told them not to use
Ured paper as they might not have any in the field, might they?
It-glanced at each other as they ruled their own.
|^as already familiar with their coding as I'd sent to the training
for their practice messages. These showed that all four were
'average coders, and that William van der Wilden usually [his key-phrases with a word from the beginning of his poem fter Wouters with a word from the end. Kisk and van Os had
veloped any pattern I could spot. One in twelve of their mesKad
been an indecipherable and I uttered a silent briefing-room fcthat they would continue to send indecipherables when they
' 1 the field.
glanced at me with a hint of amusement as I grimaced my sough The Times crossword, and were only slightly distracted
(Started doing it aloud. I asked for their help with one across, sget me started', but none was forthcoming. I then enquired Were any good at anagrams as I was hopeless at them myself.
| muttered something which sounded like 'Anna who?' and
pAis transposition again. I apologized for interrupting them, fll have to get used to it in the field, you know,' and resumed ;le with one across. I wasn't quite as stuck as I hoped to
179
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
appear because I'd set the puzzle myself, a paying hobby I'd indulged
in at St Paul's as a substitute for homework.
With my incompetence at anagrams hopefully established for Giskes's
benefit (a cryptographer who can't anagram is a motorist who
can't steer), I rose from the desk and broke a fundamental rule of
briefing by peering over their shoulders, making clucking noises of
approval and encouragement, while they were still involved in the
coding process.
These noises, so alien to me, were interrupted by the telephone. It
was the Signals Office supervisor to tell me that two messages had
just been cancelled, one to a Belgian agent, the other to a Dane.
William van der Wilden was the first Golfer to reach the eighteenth
hole, followed shortly afterwards by van Os, Jan Kisk and Peter
Wouters.
I collected their work, told them to check each other's messages
because if I checked them myself, we'd be here all night, and carefully
redistributed them. Remembering that the great Spencer Tracy always
under-acted, I showed no surprise at all when we discovered that I'd
'accidentally' given each agent his own message to check! When this
was finally resolved, one message was found to be missing. I'd 'accidentally'
dropped it on the floor.
I apologized, saying that I hadn't got the hang of things yet as I'd
only been head of codes for a week or two (vital for Giskes to
know he was dealing with a new boy) but was sure that I'd soon
catch on.
Finding that I had a few clucks left, I walked behind them checking
their checking. They'd have been good coders, given the chance.
All that remained was the grand finale, which was unlikely to leave
the audience wanting more.
I announced that I was going to read them a list of security rules,
though they would have to be patient as some of them were new to
me. I then produced two sheets of foolscap paper from my briefcase,
and proceeded to inflict on them an elongated version of the normal
security patter, apologizing now and again for the difficulty I had in
deciphering my handwriting.
As soon as I'd finished I offered to read the list again and, before
they could refuse, was racing through it. This time I stressed all the
180
THE CODIETG CABARET
nts they'd need to know if they were free to do their own coding
en they landed in Holland - pausing at an appropriate moment
say that I'd solved one across.
'd already kept them there an hour and ten minutes and said how
.ckly the time had passed.
finally enquired if they had any questions. Looking at me in
•nce, they shook their heads, but their expressions showed what
y were longing to ask. It was the oldest question known to man.
hose arse did you kiss to get this job?'
said a cheerful goodbye to them and walked to the door.
t may have been my most successful briefing.
airly full day was not quite over.
I was determined to find that bastard Nicholls and legitimize
fc On behalf of every agent using a poem-code I was going to
|and a WOK-decision, and if the Messiah still refused to tell me
i was going to make it he could prepare himself for the Second
r
»•
when I returned to my office I found a message on my desk
cting me to report to him immediately.
; was seated behind his desk studying a grey folder. His cornon
matched it. He at once asked how I had got on with the Golf
|*s briefing, and I assured him it had been as normal as I knew
|Jto make it.
looked at me quizzically and told me to sit down. It was as
hat he did because I couldn't believe what I now heard him
>•
sorrow I was to discuss the future of WOKs with Colonel
in of Bletchley Park.
Colonel Tiltman of the Bletchley Park. The cryptographic
no.
ts to keep the whole morning free for him.
Iproblem! - I'd keep my whole coding life free for him if he
|y use for it.
I to thank Nick for what he'd achieved but the deep brown
wouldn't function and all that emerged was the last of my
181
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
He pointed to the door and ordered me to go home immediately.
I was in for the longest night of my life in repayment for what I'd
done to the Golf team.
182
NINETEEN
Summit Meeting
'Dear Bletchley wizard
On this of all nights
You must not become
One of sleep's walking wounded
Trapped between the day's achievements
And tomorrow's bereavements
And if a wet dream
Would help you
To awake fair-minded
To judge the merits
Of the codes you will see
Then with all my fearful WOK-filled heart
I wish you one!
Or two!
Or three!
With the compliments, dear Bletchley wizard
Of the whole of SOE.'
(Written on the eve of the Supremo's visit)
noming of Tiltman day an event took place which silenced
ig in Norgeby House but the teleprinters, caused Nick to
bat Hitler was using hallucinogenic chemicals, and gave our
work-force an even greater shock than a kind word from a
section. Heffer arrived early.
g demolished the one stable factor in our Morse-bound world
iring before noon, he drifted into my office like an ominous
183
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
sea-mist - caught me in the act of concealing secret French messages,
Mother's illicit provisions and whatever else might detract from
Tiltman's WOK-benediction - and made history twice in one morning
by coming straight to the point.
There were certain aspects of Tiltman's visit which he felt he should
discuss with me. But before doing so, was there anything about the
meeting which I would like to ask him?
I admitted that three things puzzled me. Why had it taken Nick
since December to set the meeting up? Why had he told me at Xmas
that Tiltman had read my coding report and approved it in principle,
and remained silent ever since? Had Tiltman changed his mind for
some reason?
He patted me with a smile and said that nobody could anticipate
Tiltman's mind, including Tiltman, and that the reasons for the delay
would become all too clear to me when I understood Nick's relationship
with Tiltman and Tiltman's with C. There were also one or two
other matters which he felt I should be aware of.
The one-man education board began his disclosures over a shared
breakfast, and by the time he'd asked me to present his compliments
to the chef I'd lost my appetite altogether.
Listening to Heffer's account of the Nick-Tiltman relationship was
like turning the pages of a wedding album.
They'd first met when they were subalterns in the Signals Corps.
Nick specialized in wireless, Tiltman in codes. Their careers advanced
in parallel with equal distinction, and their combined talents helped
to make MIS the force that it was.
When Nick gave up gainful employment to join SOE his first major
decision was to get Tiltman's reactions to my coding report. His
second was to repeat them to CD and Gubbins. But although they
were impressed by what Tiltman had said, his verbal approval wasn't
enough for them. They needed his official endorsement of such radical
changes in case C attacked them as a matter of principle. Moreover,
because of my age and inexperience they felt that an expert of
Tiltman's standing should supervise any other innovations I might
try to introduce, and had formally invited him to be SOE's adviser
on codes.
184
'Then, by God, Heff, we're safe.!'
'I'm afraid,' he said quietly, 'that it isn't quite as simple as that.' Of course not! Why else would he be here at eight in the morning? Choosing his words as carefully as a chancellor with a shaky
idget, he explained to the now hushed house why the conflict stween C and SOE placed Tiltman ('a very decent chap by all
:counts') in a most awkward position.
Bletchley was controlled by C and before committing himself to
siping SOE Tiltman decided to discuss his position with Brigadier
ttmbier-Parry, C's head of Signals. Gambier-Parry was convinced
iat he'd already given SOE all the advice that it needed (he'd recomfended
the poem-code) but after a great deal of reflection (presum- 9ky his own in a mirror) he'd agreed that it would be in everyone's
lerests if Tiltman did what he could to keep SOE's codes on the
kt lines so long as it didn't interfere with his more important
amitments. Tiltman had then notified CD and Gubbins that he 6 prepared to act as SOE's code adviser.
Aet out a whoop of delight that could have been heard in Bletchley .suddenly noticed Heffer's expression. He was looking at me as
I mistaken a condemned man's breakfast for a mid-morning snack
» after a thought-pause which broke the existing record, asked toother cup of tea. There was something he was clearly reluctant
fcy, and I was careful not to prompt him.
intually he pointed out that though Nick and Tiltman were
ts in their own field, like all professional soldiers they were
ess at Intelligence politics. But Gambier-Parry was a past master, fras certain to question Tiltman about everything he learned alt wouldn't matter what Tiltman reported about codes but it
I'do untold damage to SOE's chances of a directive if he told
lnier-Parry about the muddles we'd got into in Greece and Yugok, and the operational problems we were encountering elsewhere.
((essential therefore that I limited my conversation with Tiltman Mo codes, without referring to any particular country section's or indeed to any particular country section.
k a long time dawning. 'You mean I mustn't tell him about
eh?'
aed that this was precisely what he meant, then looked
185
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
at me suspiciously. 'You've kept very quiet lately about Holland. that
either means that you're no further forward or that you're up
to something. Which is it?'
I assured him that I still hadn't thought of a way of setting a trap
for Giskes, and realized that the temptation to tell the truth to Tiltman
would be more than I could cope with. 'If I can't discuss Holland of
all countries with Tiltman of all people I'd rather not meet him.'
He stared intently at my desk. 'I was under the impression,' he said
quietly, 'that the future of WOKs was your top priority.' I'd placed
one in the centre of the desk where Tiltman couldn't possibly miss
it, and surrounded it with poems to point up the contrast. It was the
first table I'd ever laid.
Gently now, because his point was made and he knew I was impaled
on it, he told me that Tiltman's schedule had been rearranged. He
would be arriving at ten for a short session with Dansey on mainline
codes, and after that he was mine. And since he'd expressed a preference
for seeing me alone, my two room-mates would be spending
the whole day in the Signals Office - a fringe benefit Heffer was sure
I would welcome. He urged me not to forget for a single moment
that whatever I said to Tiltman I would also be saying to GambierParry.
'I
suppose they both work closely with Y?' I said, hoping to shake
him right down to his privies, though he probably kept them in his
head.
'Who's Y?' he asked blandly. He then wished me the best of luck
(he wasn't a 'merde alors' man), announced that it was time he had
a haircut, and went in search of a barber who wouldn't charge him
by the lock.
The quickest way to divert the protest march forming up inside
me was to skim through the overnight traffic waiting in my in-tray. Messages had come in from Duus Hansen in Denmark, Peter Churchill
in France and Boni in Holland.
Duus Hansen was pinpointing targets for the RAF to bomb - which
meant that neglected little Denmark was at last considered important
enough to be attacked by air, a triumph for Hollingsworth as well as for the Danes.
Peter Churchill's message contained a warning that German troops
186
y occupying the Southern zone of France were causing his circuit
at difficulties, and that he, Lise (Odette) and Anton (Rabinovitch,
Joe Louis fan) were looking for new bases.
$oni was his usual informative self. He confirmed that he was
ruiting new agents for the Parsnip/Cabbage organization, that
bbage would be standing by from the llth onwards to receive a
»p of seven containers, and that he and Cabbage were finding
es-houses for Broadbean and Golf. Boni ended his message with a
a for more money as his group would be completely out of funds him the next two months.
ikinnarland had also made an overnight contribution - indecipherB, of course - which was being attended to by the day squad.
|put all the traffic in a drawer where even my unconscious couldn't
jfcluce it by accident, and spent the next five minutes trying to draw
|Mmighty's attention to the conflict of interests I was involved in.
|l had a strong feeling that his line was engaged, and that C was
|hdy on the scrambler.
had the two greatest luxuries SOE could offer - time on my
and the office to myself. But I had a penance to perform, and
I postpone it no longer.
ree weeks ago I'd stumbled on to a method of tackling inderables
which cut the time it took to break them by half. I'd tthe discovery whilst being broken in half myself by an inde- »ble in secret French code which had to be broken and red
before Duke Street started asking what had happened to it. aew method, which I should have discovered long ago, worked
By well on all indecipherables, and although it was only minor
Bcryptography, it could be developed further. Even in its present
|it helped us to win the race to break messages before country SB ordered the agents to repeat them.
[average indecipherable was 200 letters long but every time a
was tried, all 200 letters had to be transposed to see if
age was broken. This cumbersome process was no longer ' because of some charts I'd devised which did the bulk of
inow possible to select a key and allow the charts to calculate
187
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
which of the 200 letters would appear in the first line of the message
if that key had been used. If the letters formed words, then the rest
of the message would also make sense and the right key had been
chosen. If the result was gibberish, then the wrong key had been tried
and it was 'on with the next'.
'Scanning,' the code-groups instead of having to transpose the
whole lot of them would be invaluable to the coders of Grendon. But
I'd hesitated to show it to them in case they were put off by its
apparent complexity (the charts were in fact very easy to use; the
difficulty lay in preparing them). I'd finally decided to give Grendon
a trial demonstration.
The FANYs once again proved me wrong, and the more adventurous
of them now used the charts on all indecipherables and ostentatiously
teleprinted at the foot of the messages 'broken on your chart
system'. One young FANY, as bright as she was cheeky, had asked
why I hadn't also calculated the last lines of messages because surely
they would be just as useful as the first? I didn't tell her that there
were two reasons. One that I hadn't thought of it, the other that it
was extremely hard and time-consuming work. But she was right, of
course, and Tiltman day was the ideal occasion for making a start.
I reached for a mountain of squared paper, gritted my arithmetic and
began the calculations.
Like all acts of minor expertise, it was wholly absorbing and some
hours or weeks later I glanced up and found two men watching me
from the doorway. One was Nick, the other was a large teddy bear
of a colonel with amused eyes.
I'd seen those eyes before when they'd had nothing to amuse them.
They'd aged a thousand ciphers since then.
The supremo had called at the code-breaking school in Bedford to
interview candidates for Bletchley. Of the twenty-five pupils on the
course, I was the only one not sent in to him for fear of wasting his
time. But by standing on tiptoe and peering over the other pupils'
shoulders I'd managed to gaze at him across the great divide called
talent. That was ten months ago.
The divide seemed even greater as I shook his hand. I then shook
Nick's for producing him.
Slightly puzzled by these SOE formalities, the supremo said that
188
face seemed familiar. I explained that we'd once been at opposite
Is of the same corridor but didn't add how certain I was that we
rays would be.
Fhere was a short pause as the two master signallers discussed a
tual acquaintance who apparently had last been seen entering a
)lic toilet and hadn't been heard of since. It sounded like shorthand
joining C. Glancing at his watch. Nick reminded Tiltman that he
I another appointment as soon as he'd finished with me. He then
the room rapidly before I could shake his hand again.
was alone with my coding godfather.
iJid Gambier-Parry.
189
TWE N TY
The Findings of the Court
Tiltman sat opposite me with the WOK at right angles to his navel,
and wasted no time on preliminaries. Opening his briefcase, which
had more locks on it than leather, he produced a document which I
finally recognized as my coding report. He then read it from cover
to cover while I did my best to remember what I'd written.
Gazing for a moment into the middle distance - my middle, his
distance - he then delivered his verdict like a magistrate anxious to
proceed with his next case. He endorsed the report's view that the
poem-code was unsuitable for SOE's traffic, and agreed that 'its
security checks were valueless except as a means of giving agents
confidence'.
There was nothing he wished to add to the list of security precautions
already in use (most of them had come from him anyway).
The idea of giving agents original composition was sound, though he
sympathized with those who preferred famous quotations which they
already knew by heart. But he was puzzled by the report's reference
to 'compromise poems'. Would I please explain what they were?
I told him that some agents allowed me to alter a few words of
their famous quotations, which I thought was better security than
making no changes at all. He asked to see an example.
I produced one which I'd given to Peter Churchill to use as a
reserve:
The boy stood on the burning deck
His feet were full of blisters
He hadn't got them from the fire
But from screwing both his sisters.
190
idn't repeat Peter's comment that he hardly ever screwed with
feet because he had ingrowing toe-nails but I couldn't resist ling that this agent's indecipherables were particularly tricky as
regularly 'hatted' his columns. I wanted to establish that I knew ; jargon.
filtman's eyes became sheets of calculus at the mention of inde- faerables but he said that we'd come to those shortly. laving established which of us was setting the pace of the meeting,
thoroughly endorsed the concept of giving agents a supply of ftas on microfilm. But this brought him to another point which iireport hadn't made clear.
?fis question seemed harmless enough at first hearing. When WT
(Itttors were at training school, did they transmit their practice
fesages in the poems which they were going to use when they
|bed the field?
|said that I'd stopped them from doing this as trainee operators
Iked together in teams and could get to know each other's poems. ViSe think I was right?
i nodded, and seemed relieved at my answer. was convinced that there was something behind his question fc I hadn't spotted and registered it for a future brood. fewas silent for a moment and looked restlessly round the office
(iwondering what he was doing here. His mind was clearly on
matters and I felt the weight in the room of some terrible ability.
i the sheets of calculus returned and he was ready to talk about
herables.
|ifound that this part of the report was written for laymen and
indication of the techniques we used to break indecipherables. i it explain how girls with no previous cipher experience and ^average age was twenty had been turned into a team of codes.
So would I cast my mind back to June '42, when SOE took
traffic from C, and explain in detail what our techniques
bw the girls had been trained, and anything else that might
lit to a subject which was new to him?
up completely - not because I didn't want to discuss the
corner I could call my own but because by Bletchley's
191
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
standards we had no techniques. The deep brown melter managed
to provide a few statistics:
When I joined SOE in '42 approximately a quarter of all incoming
messages were indecipherable due to careless coding or acute Morse
mutilation. In July '42 I gave my first lecture on code-breaking, and
in the following week the percentage of indecipherables broken by
the Home Station rose from 3 per cent to 28 per cent, to 35 per cent
the next week, then six weeks later to 62 per cent, then to 88 per
cent, then rose to a peak of 92 per cent, and steadied itself at an
average of 80 per cent: The number of indecipherables broken to
date was 930, and the number of keys tried approximately 800,000.
The sheets of calculus awaited the techniques.
Since the subject was new to him (or so he said) I reminded him that
if a message hadn't been broken by the time an agent's next schedule
was due, the certain knowledge that he'd be ordered to repeat it forced
us to use rudimentary methods designed to beat the clock.
'Regard me as the clock,' he said. 'What are the methods?'
I described the 'blanket attacks' of 1,000 keys at a time undertaken
by successive shifts of coders, the anagramming based on a message's
probable contents and the agent's language patterns, the analysis of
the agent's previous mistakes both in training and in the field, and
the tests for 'hatted columns', misnumbered code-keys and Morse
mutilation of the indicator-groups.
'How did you teach this to them? I'd like the details, please.'
I described my first visit to Grendon when I'd written a coded
message on the blackboard and shown the girls how enemy cryptographers
would break it. I told him how eagerly they'd joined in
until clear-text emerged: 'there shall be no such thing
as an indecipherable message', which had become their
motto. They'd then helped me to reconstruct the poem on which
the message had been based: 'be near me when my light is
low', which I thought about whenever I briefed agents. I then
poured out all the reasons why we had to change the face of agents'
coding, and described SOE's resistance to anything new until the
miracle of Nicholls, which resulted in today, and many tummy
rumbles later (mine) I realized that I'd delivered a lecture without any
idea of how long I'd been speaking, and hoped it was still February.
192
He was silent for a full minute after I'd finished. The sheets of
calculus had gone but I couldn't read what had taken their place and
waited to be told to go back to Bedford for a refresher course.
1 Instead he quietly asked if the charts he'd seen me using when he
and Nick arrived had any connection with breaking indecipherables.
iconfirmed that they had. He at once asked me to explain how they
worked.
t I forgot that I was talking to Tiltman and began explaining how
p) read off the first line of a message as if the cryptographic supremo
krere a Grendon coder. When I tried to change style he shook his
head impatiently, so I continued my exposition in FANY language.
Ie waited for me to finish, then demanded to know who had devised
kese charts.
i 'You, sir.'
^He looked at me in astonishment.
tSince surprised bears need careful handling I hastily explained that
C charts were only an extension of a method we'd been taught at
adford called 'reading the heads of columns'.
''An extension, you say? I see! And how long ago did you extend
K.
g. ••"
|I told him that the charts had been in use for roughly three weeks.
t was my turn to be astonished when he said he'd like me to
aonstrate the charts on an unbroken indecipherable. When I most
ded an indecipherable, there wasn't one in the office, even from
t Free French! I wondered if he'd believe me.
bwas rescued by my red-haired typing pool, Muriel, who quietly
fat with her Skinnarland's latest indecipherable which the day
had been unable to budge. She knew his traffic had absolute
ty and hoped the colonel would forgive the interruption. The
el not only forgave with a subaltern's smile but accepted her
'' of a cup of tea. It was Heffer who'd told me that red was a
ssional soldier's favourite colour.
alized what a poor host I'd been. Tiltman hadn't broken a code
veral hours and might be suffering from withdrawal symptoms.
ied him to help us with this urgent indecipherable and perhaps
JKke to try the charts for himself. Less than ten seconds later the
; man's teddy bear was sitting beside me waiting to be briefed.
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BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I gave him a break-down of one of our most regular customers'
coding habits, warning him that the villain always started his messages
with five dummy letters, the only security rule he never forgot.
I then kitted him out with charts and squared paper, and even pushed
the WOK on one side to give him more room. He asked me to suggest
the h»est line of attack and I gave him the list of keys waiting to be
tried- He began work at once, numbering his transposition-keys in
less time than it took Tommy and me to light our cigars. Wishing I
had a camera because I certainly wouldn't believe this tomorrow,
and doubted if I would tonight, I watched him demolishing the keys
with astonishing agility. It took me a little while to realize that there
was something not quite right about the way he was doing it.
Although he was executing the four mandatory movements - number
transposition-key, consult chart, select the letters it indicates, see if
they make sense - his speed was the equivalent of a one-minute mile,
and there could be only one explanation for it: the Tiltman method was to number the transposition-key, glance cursorily at the charts, and calculate in his head which letters would appear in the first line
of the message - an awesome achievement even for a cryptographic
supremo. This suspicion was confirmed when I 'accidentally' handed
him the wrong chart and he still produced the right set of letters.
tie seemed suddenly to realize that this was becoming a spectator
sport, and pointed out the list of keys. 'Can't manage all of 'em.'
I took over the bottom half of the list and hobbled along behind
him.
Skinnarland continued to defy the pair of us like the champ that
he was until I suddenly noticed that there was neither sound nor
movement coming from my left. I glanced up and found that our
newest recruit was holding a sheet of squared paper towards me as
proudly as any FANY with her first success.
Skinnarland's first line read: 'tgohl [dummy letters] the germans
ARE INCREAS--"'
I remembered that I wasn't supposed to let Tiltman see any of our
traffic, nor could I read the clear-text to Wilson while he was still in
the room. He seemed to be preoccupied with studying the charts, and
* The letters ing were the start of Skinnarland's next line.
194
mbied the right key to the Grendon supervisor, instructing her sprint the clear-text to London with absolute priority. I accepted ?ngratulations guiltily.
dng me no chance to thank him, Tiltman asked if he could have
of charts to take back to Bletchley, and if I'd calculated the last
he'd like those as well. I handed him a spare set, which disired
at once into his jewel-box, and promised him the last lines an as they were ready.
was still sitting companionably beside me and I made the novnistake
of basking in the moment. A sidesweep from the bear's
:ook me completely off guard. 'Do you suspect that any agents
lown and sending their messages under duress?'
ping to learn from his timing, I said that I stood by what I'd
n in the report. No reliance could be placed on the poem-code's
ity checks as they were little more than a gesture to give the
s confidence, or on the poem-code itself, and there was nothing
Id add to this.
t what about irregularities in their coding or their WT trans- ins? Are you saying there haven't been any?'
id to stop myself from showing him the file of an agent called
>lay whom even SOE realized was blown. He'd gone into France
41, and was the first WT operator to send London an inderable.*
was
a Skinnarland-class coder and an equally inept operator,
i mid-'42 he began transmitting on another circuit's set and
)ding and WT craftsmanship were suddenly transformed. No
ipherables, little or no Morse mutilation, scarcely any procedural
tiarities. The whole of Signals - including Ozanne - was coni
that he was caught and so was Buckmaster, who was still tig up the pretence of exchanging messages with him in a brilliant pt to prolong his life. This was a rare example of country section
ignals directorate working as one. tat possible harm could there be in showing him the file? What told C make of it?
* transmitted it in December '41 and when I joined SOE in June '42 I broke it as
* of interest.
195
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
But I knew that I wouldn't, and heard myself telling him that the
best person to address his questions to was Nick.
He looked at me with such understanding that I knocked the thine
I most believed in on to the floor.
He picked up the WOK and smiled. 'Excellent,' he said.
I was barely able to listen as he delivered his formal verdict on
WOKs, which he referred to by their proper title. Worked-out Keys.
As far as I could gather I'd made an important contribution to agents'
coding .. . But none at all to Kergolay, Plan Giskes, or any of the
other matters I should have discussed with him.
He listed the WOK's assets, which far outweighed my own. It had
the great merit of being a one-time code which agents could destroy
message by message and could not possibly remember. It saved them
the wearisome business of numbering transposition-keys, and would
virtually end indecipherables as the indicators were proof against
Morse mutilation. The number of letters passed in a WOK could
safely be reduced to 100 and its security checks were high grade.
However, he had two reservations, though they were not about the
system itself. He had my full attention now.
He doubted whether shuffling counters by hand would produce
transposition-keys which were truly random as the girls would inevitably
grow bored or careless. It would be far safer if Bletchley
produced the keys by machine and he would ask Commander DudleySmith,
one of his principal assistants, to contact me to discuss the
quantity of keys required.
His more important reservation concerned the destruction of the
keys as soon as they'd been used. How would an agent do this in
field conditions? He regretted that he had no suggestions to offer. I
told him that I'd ask our Research Station to produce a specially
sensitized silk which would make the keys easy to cut away and burn.
I caught him looking at me with a specially sensitized face - a onetime
expression which he quickly put away before his traffic could be read.
But I had no difficulty in interpreting the tummy-rumbles (his) which
suddenly filled the office, and realized that it was well past lunchtime.
He did as much justice to Mother's provisions as any three coders,
and chatted about a visit he'd once made to 84. But over his last cream
bun he said that there was something he'd been meaning to ask me.
196
hadn't relaxed over lunch and was ready for anything - absolutely
thing. Except for his question.
Ee wanted to know how I'd managed to avoid being sent to
chley.
told him that I'd had no need to avoid it because the question had
sr arisen. Bedford had done everything possible to help me but I was
tpeless pupil and was glad to accept the first job offered. He said
; if ever I wrote a paper about unteachable pupils he'd like to read
Bild perhaps I'd be interested in visiting Bletchley? He had no need
sk twice, and told me to arrange it with his secretary. And when I
fcome, perhaps I'd bring the last lines of the charts with me?
ge glanced at his watch, and said he must go. He held out his
|htnd repeated his invitation to visit Bletchley, though he couldn't
ade me with this kind of lunch.
Wanted to thank him for the banquet which he'd given me, but
(pstion popped out before I could even begin. 'Colonel Tiltman,
|f there any reason why agents shouldn't use one-time pads?'
anel Tiltman sir didn't so much change colour as rank and I
I: a glimpse of Lieutenant Tiltman as he must have looked to
Oant Nick. 'One-time pads, did you say? For agents?'
guickly resumed his rank, which was peerless. 'You can discuss
l Commander Dudley-Smith when he comes here. Please thank
iecretary for the tea.' He hurried away as rapidly as Nick had.
it was wrong with giving agents one-time pads?
sion set in the moment he left, and I was alone again with my
ishy talent.
E>ugh he'd praised WOKs, I'd lacked the courage to disobey
and discuss the Dutch traffic with him. He'd know better than
8if Plan Giskes would work.
felike a rat who'd produced an anti-toxin. It was the kind of
"te that made school days seem companionable.
twas only one thing I could do about it, though I never
(I'd need to. I asked to be put through to the Signals Office
^'priority, and told the menaces that it was time to come
197
TWENTY-ONE
Repercussions
A stickler for established procedure, especially when it was he who'd
established it, Sir Charles Hambro never communicated with the
lower orders except through the heads of their directorates. But the
morning after Tiltman's visit he sent a personal message 'from CD
to the coders of Grendon' congratulating them on breaking over
900 indecipherables, urging them to maintain their great efforts, and
assuring them that a new code called Works (sic) would make their
task much easier. He also undertook to visit the station shortly to
congratulate them in person.
The testimonial remained on the Grendon notice board until an
anonymous FANY spelled out in capital letters the four-letter word
which she believed the C of CD stood for.
It was typical of Tiltman to have put in a word for the low levels
when dealing with the highest, and although Nick wouldn't disclose
what else he'd told CD after he'd left me, its repercussions were
immediate. I was transformed overnight from WOK-pedlar into
licensed code-maker, with authority to recruit six WOK-makers, six
WOK-briefers, and the staff of the Thatched Barn to do the camouflage.
I also had authority to launch Plan Giskes.
My licence to be a trap-setter hadn't come from SOE but from an
authority with wider terms of reference: my own free mind. Now
that Tiltman was SOE's adviser, I need no longer worry about the
future of agents' codes if Plan Giskes cost me my job.
But I was beginning to run out of excuses for visiting the Signals
Office in case the Dutch section cancelled a message to the field and I wasn't on hand to make improper use of it.
198
REPERCUSSIONS
briefing offices, every agent was a problem. But Francis Cam- ;rts was a problem agent. Officially I knew nothing about him.
hing, that is, except for the few mandatory details every country ton supplied with a 'body for briefing'.
[e was a Buckmaster agent, would be known in the field as Roger,
was due to go into France in the March moon. Further inforion
would be irrelevant to the teaching of double-transposition.
? hadn't been for the grapevine operated by the Brotherhood of fjaig Officers I would never have known about Francis Cam- gts's extraordinary past which set him apart from any agent in
fcombined experience.
tele of us quite understood what he was doing in SOE. He was ydent pacifist who refused to join the armed forces as all human yras sacrosanct, and it was wrong to take it under any circum- ifces. He registered as a conscientious objector and was summoned
ttpear before the tribunal set up to judge the sincerity of 'conchies'.
tscross-examining him about his principles, the tribunal ordered 60 take up agricultural work for the duration of the war. After
('.as a farm labourer he volunteered to be dropped behind enemy ome thought it was the death of his brother in the RAF which avulsed his thinking, others that he was sickened by what he'd
: Nazi atrocities. Whatever the truth of it, he'd convinced son, SOE's chief head-hunter, and Maurice Buckmaster,
of one, that he was an excellent prospect as both saboteur .zer, and they'd recruited him into SOE.
therhood of Briefing Officers (BOBO for short) unani;reed
with his acceptance. Although they reluctantly cone
was highly intelligent, in the opinion of the BOBO he
for sabotage or leadership, and was in conflict about
» attitudes. The kindest comments about him came (as
n did) from his coding instructor at Beaulieu, who said
t that he was 'a plodder who does his best to follow
i but seems unable to grasp the basic principles'. A schoolprofession,
and apparently a gifted one, he'd proved a
upil on every course he'd so far attended.
; to leave my desk in case N section cancelled a message
I resolved to spend as little time briefing Cammaerts as
199
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I conscientiously could. There would be ample time between now and
March to re-brief him if I made the plodding progress I anticipated.
I was quite unprepared for his physical impact. Buckmaster had
cornered the market in giant agents, and this one dwarfed even Rabinovitch,
whose Orchard Court chair he was straddling with equal
discomfort.
There was nothing plodding about his eyes as they assessed the
merits of his briefing officer. Nothing plodding about the way he
wrote out the text of the message he was about to encode. It was
when he started to encode it that he began living up to his reputation.
He paused after every five letters as if counting heads in a classroom.
Eventually satisfied that all were present and correct, he
appeared to form the letters into a crocodile, which he led in slow
procession across the courtyard of his paper. There was another pause
while he took a roll-call. And yet another while he seemed to rebuke
some letters he'd caught pulling faces at each other. And that was
only the first transposition.
By the time he'd reached the second I could have strolled to the
nearest church, said a prayer for Tiltman's preservation, and
waited for an official acknowledgement. Instead I glanced at his
code-card.
His poem was in French, and I remembered that his uncle was a
famous Belgian poet. If he'd chosen one of his, I hoped he'd do justice
to it.
The BOBO's explanation that Cammaerts was a plodder wouldn't
help me to unplod him. Yet the longer I watched him at work, the
more I began to suspect that he wasn't plodding at all. I asked him
to stop encoding for a moment. I was going to take a gamble with
Cammaerts which might bring him to a permanent standstill.
I showed him the mathematics of double-transposition.
If I'd been teaching him to drive (which God forbid, for both our
sakes) I'd have assessed him as someone who needed to understand
the mechanics of his car because he suspected that it wasn't roadworthy,
and that he'd have to be his own breakdown service on this
particular journey.
Feeling like a spiritual AA, I did my best not to talk down to him. Sensing that maths wasn't his subject (it turned out to be history), I
200
explained as simply as I could what happened to the letters as they
were shuffled through their 'cages', and showed him the relationship
between the code-groups when the transposition was complete. His
questions showed that he'd understood every word of it, and I didn't lose him at all until I forgot that I wasn't trying to turn him into a
cryptographer.
As if to confirm that he'd seen enough, the man with a need to know
resumed his encoding. He didn't spurt or do anything spectacular
; but cruised towards the traffic lights, waited till they changed, and ^proceeded quietly and steadily to pass his driving test.
fc- There was a lesson in all this. The more intelligent the agent, the
(ess likely he was to respond if he were taught the mechanics of
loding mechanically.
pi I'd been slow to realize that what Cammaerts had really been doing
sas coding with character, testing the logic of it all, trying to satisfy (fliself that these alien procedures were soundly based, taking nothig
and no one for granted, least of all his various instructors. It was going to need a special calibre of WOK-briefer to deal with
gents like this one. I couldn't recruit FANYs for their looks alone.
Ijdecided to be selfish and show him a WOK myself. There would p plenty of time between now and March to make sure that he
(uderstood the thinking behind it.
|l realized that he was asking me a question. He wanted to know
(paths were my subject, and I told him that I didn't have one. |ie looked hard at me and smiled.
ft may have been the quality of that smile or the penetration of |t look, but I found myself feeling very sorry for anyone who made
6-mistake of writing this man off.
Jnless he happened to be German.
15 February I had a better excuse than usual for visiting the als Office. The night squad had broken an indecipherable from
inovitch after 1,500 attempts, and I wanted to teleprint my con- alarions.
igham of the Dutch section slithered towards me and asked if auld have a quick word, though we rarely had any other kind. as a verbal weight-watcher. He said that he wanted to cancel a
201
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
message to Holland but didn't know the new procedure. Who should
he talk to?
It took me a moment to realize what he'd said. He wanted to cancel
a message to Holland. It was the first time I'd been tempted to kiss
a fox.
I told him that he was talking to the right person, and that I'd be
delighted to cancel it for him. He said that it was message number
60 to Boni, and thanked me for my help as he had a meeting in five
minutes. Lowering his lisp, he added that if it was too late to cancel
the message, it wouldn't really matter as he was sending a message
to Boni tomorrow changing his instructions. He thanked me again
and hurried off to keep his appointment.
I hurried into the supervisor to keep mine with Giskes.
Number 60 to Boni was on top of a pile of messages waiting to
be teleprinted to Grendon. I told the supervisor that there was a query
on it which the country section wanted to discuss with me, and that
if she'd give me her copy I'd return it as soon as I could. She handed
it over at once.
An empty office. A cancelled message. A panic attack.
The entire concept could be wrong.
I picked up the receiver to speak to Tiltman. It put itself back.
I wished I knew what moral courage was, but it was too late to
ask Cammaerts to define it, though those who have it seldom can. I
remembered his smile, picked up my pen, and with an unsteady hand
prepared the cancelled message for transmission to the field.
Plan Giskes had begun.
202
TWENTY-TWO
The Launching of Plan
Giskes
|l,ocked in my desk in readiness for this moment were brief notes on
fctfae background and performance of every Dutch agent, and a detailed
IHueprint of Plan Giskes.
At arm's length with the plan at last, I reviewed the elements likel;st
to determine its outcome:
1 Boni's record (no detail could be considered irrelevant) aQ. The message to be sent to him &3 The concept itself.
Boni's Record
(formerly known as Spinach; real name Cornelis Buizer) was
ped near Assen on 23 June 1942 with his organizer Parsnip. He had (transmitting regularly ever since and had become one of the busiest ators in Holland, handling not only Parsnip's traffic but that of
to and other key members of the Parsnip/Cabbage organization.
uradio operator in peacetime, his 'touch' at the keyboard and Hedge of wireless procedures made him, in the words of a Grennalmaster,
'as good if not better than anyone here'. His coding ually efficient and his security checks were invariably correct,
he had twice omitted them.
volume of traffic which other agents entrusted to him allowed
straddle most of the bizarre events which had taken place in 1 in the past six months.
i Boni who had been at the heart of the traffic snarl-up between
203
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
London and Holland which lasted from 3 August to 12 November
last year.
It was Boni who suggested that all Parsnip's traffic should be in
his (Boni's) code. He subsequently made the same suggestion for all
Potato's traffic. N section acceded to both requests, Ozanne refusing
to intervene.
It was Boni who claimed that two key messages from London to
Potato had been indecipherable. These messages had been checked
and rechecked and had been perfectly encoded. Nor had there been
any atmospheric problems which might have caused Morse mutilation
to the indicator-groups. It was far likelier that the Germans had been
unable to answer London's questions satisfactorily and had been
playing for time.
The Cancelled Message
Message number 60 to Boni of 15 February was in reply to his number
58 of the 9th, in which he'd confirmed that a reception committee
would be standing by for Broadbean and Golf. He'd also stated that
he would run completely out of funds within the next two months
and asked London to send money urgently. He'd added that he was
recruiting new agents for the Parsnip/Cabbage organization.
The message which Bingham wanted to cancel promised Boni that
10,000 florins would be dispatched with Broadbean and Golf, and
confirmed that the reception committee should stand by for a dropping
operation on the 16th. It also confirmed the arrangement of the
lights, and asked for details of the new recruits he was enlisting. It
ended with a sentence in Dutch which I took to be a message to be
broadcast over Radio Oranje or a password to be used in the field.
This was an excellent message for the purpose of Plan Giskes. It
was long (over 300 letters), had substance and, above all, called for
a reply. The nature of that reply would determine whether Boni, and the agents for whom he operated, were in enemy hands.
The trap was basically so simple that its best chance of success lay
in the Germans not believing that it could have been devised by
simpletons.
204
The Concept
ntended to send Boni an indecipherable message which he could it possibly decode without the help of a cryptographer. But it would be no ordinary indecipherable. These can sometimes
broken by luck. This indecipherable would be encoded in such a
iy that if Boni replied to it other than by stating that it was inde>herable
then an expert must have helped him to unscramble it.
id that expert had to be German.
The incentives for the German to reply to it were very great indeed |d will be dealt with under 'possible German reactions'). put there was one imponderable factor which was more important
any of these. What if Boni were NOT in enemy hands?
owever remote the possibility, it had to be catered for.
Special Precautions
li were free but couldn't decode his instructions an entire opere could be jeopardized.
; if Boni couldn't decipher a message that he wasn't supposed
pive anyway because its contents were obsolete, no harm would ^een done to him apart from the tedium of trying to decode it.
Ipvas why I'd delayed Plan Giskes until the Dutch cancelled a
ge to the field.
I if he made the mistake of replying to it, he'd tell us what we
1 to know.
Method of Encoding
||>oem was:
I sometimes wish
I was a fish
A-swimming in the sea
A starling on a chimney pot
205
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
A blackbird on a tree
Or anyone but me.
I chose five words and numbered the letters sequentially, wishing I
had the dexterity of the Grendon coders:
TREECHIMNEYF I SHWAS SEA
19. 15. 4. 5. 3. 9. 11. 13. 14. 6. 21. 8. 12. 16. 10. 20. 1. 17. 18. 7. 2.
I began by encoding the message in the normal way but deliberately
misspelt several words of the text to give the impression it was the
work of a tired and careless coder.
Then came the point of no return. I transposed two columns in
the wrong order - a favourite pastime of Peter Churchill's (known
in the trade as 'hatting').
The effect of 'hatting' was to throw the letters out of alignment so
that some of the clear-text would read normally, and the rest (to the
untrained eye) would be gibberish. A cryptographer could tell at a
glance what had happened and would calculate how to 'unhat' the
columns to bring the letters into proper alignment - a process which
would tax his patience more than his mathematics. But agents like
Peter Churchill also 'hatted' columns in the second transposition.
A double dose of 'hatting' would be an altogether different matter.
It would throw the letters much further out of alignment and make
the cryptographer's task at least twice as onerous. This posed a (to
me) unanswerable problem:
Swamped by important military traffic, how much time could the
Germans devote to unravelling dropped stitches in an agent's message?
What priority did they give to SOE's traffic?
These were the questions I'd wanted to ask Tiltman. Without his
guidance, I took no chances on the Germans being overloaded and
encoded the second transposition normally. It was essential that they
didn't take long to unravel 'London's mistake', but possession of
Boni's poem would cut the time by half, and after a few 'Gott in
Himmels' they'd be certain to spot some key-words amongst the
surrounding gibberish:
florins would appear as flor with ins in the line beneath it.
206
housand would appear as tho with usa and nd in the same line.
iessage (a word which all cryptographers looked for) would
•ear as mge with essa in the line above it.
L few nudges later and the rest of the message would fall into place
them.
Problem Areas
(.
•this late stage the only one worth a final ponder was Giskes's
fetions to an indecipherable from London.
|e'd pretended that two of our messages to Potato were indecipher,-When
confronted by a genuine one, why wouldn't he tell us
;was indecipherable instead of attempting to reply to it?
ause he was playing for time with Potato. But time was against
ow. With a dropping operation one night away - with agents,
s, containers, the lot, about to descend on him - why should he
iusing even a few hours' delay by asking London to repeat a
ge when he already knew its contents?
as convinced that we had everything to gain and nothing to
trying to catch Giskes in an off moment.
i time to find out.
ig that Bingham wouldn't suddenly appear, I handed message
60 to the Signals Office supervisor, and told her that I'd
[ it myself to save time. I then instructed her to teleprint it to
ti with top priority in time for Boni's next sked.
[''hurried back to my office, my spine began tingling. Why did
j|a feeling in the mind of my back that somewhere in all this
fe a mistake?
V'. •
p- '
ft until I received a panic-stricken call from the supervisor of
' ftdon night shift that I realized what was wrong.
xlers had discovered that the message to Boni was indecipherowing
that I'd encoded it, they hadn't checked it until it had
n transmitted. I'd forgotten my standing instruction that
i to the field must be double-checked and initialled by the
207
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I assured her that no harm had been done because message 60 had
just been cancelled, and its replacement would be sent on Boni's next
sked.
She asked if she should notify the Dutch section, which was the
last thing I wanted, and I undertook to contact N section immediately
and accept full responsibility.
An idea then occurred for turning the mistake to advantage, a
prerequisite for survival in SOE. If I could tell the sceptics in SOE that a squad of coders had made a blanket attack on the indecipherable
and failed to break it, they could hardly maintain (as some
undoubtedly would) that Boni could have decoded it himself.
I informed the remorseful supervisor that I'd carefully checked my
encoding and thought the mistake was in the teleprinting. To prevent
this happening again I'd like the night squad to do their best to break
it so that we could determine whose fault it was. I added that I was
very anxious to know the result, and that if the girls hadn't broken
it by the time I left the office I'd be grateful if she'd telephone me at
home, no matter how late it was.
She promised that the night squad would start a blanket attack at once.
I waited another hour, and then went home.
Boni stretched out a hand which had only one finger on it and
screamed into my face, 'What have you done to me, what have you
done to me?'
It was Mother trying to awaken me at six in the morning. She'd
had a message from some girl whom she'd refused to put through to
me. The message was to tell Mr Leo Marks that she and her friends
couldn't do it.
Mother demanded to know what it was that she and her friends
couldn't do that I had to be told about at six in the morning.
'Their duty,' I said.
Boni was still screaming when I tried to do justice to her blackmarket
breakfast.
208
TWENTY-THREE
r Special Devices
ifc'
ts-the morning of 16 February there was a sound rarely heard in
Icode department - a sigh of relief - when a car called to take me
||p Thatched Barn at Barnet. I'd forgotten that I was to spend the
lie day with its commanding officer, Colonel Elder Wills.
Mli's next sked would be over by the time I returned.
Ste Thatched Barn was a famous inn on the Barnet bypass which
s had skilfully converted into a camouflage and special devices
tt. The gifted colonel had offered me a conducted tour of his I establishment not because he wanted to meet me but because
een offered a contra-account he couldn't resist: a conducted f Nick of an equally inaccessible workshop, the wireless station
ndon.
'as my job to persuade him to give absolute priority to the
" ging of WOKs.
I at a respectful distance as he proudly displayed a huge
at of horse manure, camel dung, and mule, cow and elephant
s, which had been delivered to him by the London Zoo at anal request of Sir Charles Hambro.
i a huge dollop of 'merde alors' for Wills that Hambro was f a friend of Churchill's, and the youngest director yet sd by the Bank of England, and a former chairman of Great
I Railways, but was also a fellow of the Royal Zoological
ad it was in this capacity that he'd persuaded the head of >at his waste product could make a valuable contribution
r effort.
»t at first that this exotic collection of excreta was a present (the gleefully explained that it was in the process of being
209
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
reproduced in plastic, and would then be hand-painted and filled with
explosives. The horse manure was destined for Western and Northern
Europe, the camel dung for North Africa, and the mule, cow and
elephant droppings for the Far East. Once trodden on or driven over
(hopefully by the enemy) the whole lot would go off with a series of
explosions even more violent than the ones which had produced it.
Amongst Wills's more civilized creations were milk bottles which
exploded when the caps were removed, fountain pens guaranteed to
write off whoever unscrewed them, and loaves of bread it would be
unwise to regard as the staff of life. He had a stock of cigarettes
guaranteed to cure people of smoking as they were packed with
incendiary and explosive materials, and they'd done no good at all to
German stores, fuel tanks and armament dumps in France, Belgium,
Holland and Norway. He also had on offer a variety of nuts and
bolts which had been hollowed out and filled with explosives; these
he warmly recommended for railway engines and shunting yards.
Since agents often hid their "WT sets in lavatory cisterns, he'd
devised a lavatory chain which could act as an aerial. He also had a
stock of lethal toilet paper which he hadn't yet issued because he
couldn't be sure it would be used by the right behinds.
He took me into a shed which was packed with innocuous-looking
suitcases specially made for carrying "WT sets. Each suitcase had been
artificially aged and designed to fit into the territory in which it would
be used. Every suitcase was equipped with secret compartments and
a false bottom.
Agents' clothing was the only problem which had come close to
defeating him. He had to reproduce continental tailoring and stitching,
which was very distinctive and varied greatly from territory to
territory. He'd finally recruited a Jewish tailor, a refugee from Austria,
who'd visited synagogues all round the country to borrow old clothes
and labels from his fellow refugees. These labels were reproduced in
Wills's workshop and sewn into the clothes, which the tailor had
copied and which Wills had carefully aged. Boots and shoes (also
carefully aged) were provided by a firm in Northampton, and Wills
added sliding heels to them to provide cavities for microfilms and
other small objects. In fact, everything in sight was 'suitably aged
but me.
210
SPECIAL DEVICES
[ found myself thinking about the ageing process, an undignified siness which both sides in the war were doing their best to spare
When your words
Become distant relatives
Who seldom visit you
When all dates are one
And all times the same
And what you put down
You can no longer pick up
Remember that you
Now helpless
Who used to be a fighter
Make fools
Feel brighter.
her one for the ditty-box perhaps?*
eping the best till the last like the Supersalesman that he was,
,.;took me into the 'special documents' department where most
iforgeries were done, and showed me what he'd provided for alt team.
y were to be issued with forged Dutch, Belgian and French
Ey cards, frontier passes, dyes for forging German passes, rubber
is with Swastikas on them, and everything else that would be j,to guide Jambroes through France and Belgium to the Spanish §-line. Some of the printing had been done by Professor Newitt
Snimperial College of Science where Wills had his own office.
> had the use of a workshop in the Natural History Museum i Julian Huxley was his technical advisor on urgent problems 'the reproduction of excreta.
eing at his watch, which concealed god knows what, he finally frhat he could do for the agents' code department. fcto be careful how I answered him. I'd been warned by Joan who knew him well, that he had a propensity for taking instant
ttly included in a batch of microfilmed poems sent to Jugoslavia.
211
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
dislikes to people, and that his receptivity was an excellent example
of his own camouflage. She'd also told me that he used to be an
art director at Elstree Studios, that he'd graduated to making films
(including Song of Freedom with Paul Robeson), and that his present
production at the Thatched Barn was running well over budget. To
get the best out of Wills, he had to be confronted by a major challenge,
and there weren't many which were new to him.
Wishing I could sing like Paul Robeson, I began the Song of the
WOK by stressing that agents would resist carrying them because of
the number of random street searches. The decisive factor would be
the quality of the camouflage.
Clearly disappointed that he couldn't see a problem, he said that
silk codes could easily be camouflaged in toothpaste tubes with special
compartments, in shoelaces with soft tubes inside, and in an infinite
number of conventional objects which would certainly stand up to
random street searches, and might even be safe under close examination.

Having disposed of the WOK problem, he picked up two lumps
of coal which were packed with high explosives and began to describe
their glowing future. WOK were obviously just another job to him.
Determined to raise their status, I shot some questions at him:
Could code-keys be invisibly printed? - on handkerchiefs perhaps?
How could agents read them? - and when they'd used them, how
could they erase them? They couldn't cut them away and walk around
with their handkerchiefs in tatters!
In his excitement he dropped both lumps of coal, and I said goodbye
to my parents.
But they must have been defective (the coals, not my parents)
because the only explosion came from Wills himself: 'Y-E-s! - we can
do it:
Of course it was practical for WOKs to be invisibly printed! And
of course the agents could read them. He'd invented a new invisible
ink which could be detected only when exposed to infra-red lighting.
All the agent needed to do was switch on a torch with infra-red discs
inside it and he could read the WOK-keys without difficulty. Nor did
the torches need to be camouflaged. Everyone in occupied Europe
carried one to cope with the blackout.
212
r suggestion about handkerchiefs was good but there were other
bilities. WOKs could be invisibly printed on men's shirttails >ants and on women's knickers and petticoats. As for erasing key chemically, it was a fascinating problem and would have
unediate attention.
e Tiltman of camouflage now galvanized everyone within earshot
i Barnet Bletchley. WOKs could be microfilmed and carried in
:ontainers which could be hidden in various parts of the body
as the navel or rectum. A matchstick could accommodate 200
^-keys. It would be hidden in an ordinary box of matches and
;ent could identify it by a tiny indentation which only he knew
;. As for reading the microfilm, he was working on a small
rful microscope with detachable parts which could easily be
ibled and which would be no problem to camouflage.
then began a long technical discussion with his assistants, many
lorn he'd recruited from Elstree Studios.
sy rapidly lost me. Nor was I any longer necessary. I was a little
bed about codes being concealed in the rectum, and intended
.'missing when the coders of Grendon announced: 'We have
'ed our first indecipherable due to anal interference beyond the
's control.'
: everything else I'd heard and seen had removed my last anxiety
: the future of silk codes. If Wills could devise a lavatory chain
i acted as an aerial, he was capable of camouflaging anything.
ight even be able to return me to Baker Street camouflaged as
ult.
icided to leave before he had the chance.
213
TWENTY-FOUR
Judgement Day
There were only three things which SOE's agents could anticipate
with confidence. That their parachutes would open, that their L-tablets
would kill them, and that their messages from London would be
accurately encoded.
The Signals directorate could be sure of only one thing. That any
WT operator who received a message which he couldn't decipher
would ask the Home Station to 'check and repeat' it at his next sked.
This elementary procedure was a fundamental act of self-preservation,
and as reflex to an operator of Boni's calibre as switching on his set.
His indecipherable had been transmitted to him on 15 February,
and he'd acknowledged receipt of it by sending AK/R in Morse.
He'd also acknowledged receipt of Bingham's new number 60, which
amplified several parts of his (as he believed) cancelled text.
That was twenty-four hours ago, and from his next sked onwards
it was essential to play the devil's (Giskes's) advocate and assume
that Boni was free until his responses proved otherwise.
On 16 February London and Boni exchanged messages. London's
message (number 16) informed Boni of a change of plan. The money
he'd asked for would not be delivered to him by the Golf team but
by the two other agents (Tennis and Hockey), who were waiting to
be dropped. The message confirmed that a stores operation would
take place that night.
Boni's message (number 59) broke new ground. It contained an
urgent request from Koos Vorrink (code-named Victory). Vornnk
wanted the BBC to broadcast messages twice daily warning Dutchmen
against a Gestapo agent named Johnny, who claimed to have arrived
from London with important instructions from the Dutch govern214
JUDGEMENT DAY
tit. The message ended with a short account of Mik's (Cabbage's) ruiting activities in The Hague and Leiden.
Fbis was Boni's first chance to report that he'd received an inde- lierable from London, but it wasn't necessarily significant that he
In't. He could easily have encoded his number 59 before receiving
message he couldn't decipher. He must be given the benefit of
h doubt as there was.
?n the 17th Boni missed a sked. He'd missed remarkably few (eight
dl) since he'd begun transmitting in June of last year, but missing jione wasn't necessarily significant. Circumstances didn't always
But WT operators to be at their sets when their signal-plans
(landed it, and their surest way of keeping their inflexible schedules
to be in enemy hands.
It it was now forty-eight hours since he'd received the indecipher-
r'He couldn't know that it was a cancelled message any more lAe could know what instructions it contained, and if he didn't or it to be 'checked and repeated' at his next sked Plan Giskes
d have to be disclosed to SOE at once. ehad a second sked on the 17th, and this one he kept. ttdon's 62 was transmitted to him. It asked for a detailed descripF
Johnny (the Gestapo agent) and promised that Vorrinck's
t for warnings to be broadcast was being taken up immediately ie authorities concerned. The message ended with further ques- bout new recruits.
; acknowledged receipt of the message. He then transmitted
Jl, which signified that he had no traffic of his own to pass. ", this was the most significant message he had ever passed ', didn't respond well to negative inferences and I decided to
ione more sked in case he referred to the indecipherable. »it was taking the Germans longer to break than I'd thought. te 18th Boni transmitted his 60th message. In it he confirmed
|first batch of containers had been successfully dropped, and
ras waiting for the rest, together with the agents and the
orins. He also confirmed that London's messages had been
md understood and passed on to Victory and Cabbage, and
ould send further details about Johnny. He would also send
i about the new recruits.
215
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
He didn't once refer to the indecipherable, and there was even a
phrase in the message which made me wonder if he were trying to
tell us he was caught. It went all the way back to his days as a trainee
operator.
Although it was appalling security, when Boni was at training
school (spring '42) all agents were instructed to use stock phrases
like 'Your message received and understood'. Boni had used this
particular phrase only three times in the whole of his traffic. Was it
coincidence that he was using it now? How could he (the most experienced
operator in the field) say to London, 'Your messages received
and understood' when he'd had one for three days which was completely
indecipherable?
I now realized that his missed sked was not insignificant. Nor were
the gaps in his traffic. They were examples of Giskes's timing. He'd
waited until the first part of the stores operation was complete, and
the containers safely in his hands, before replying to London's
messages.
And with four more agents, six more containers and 10,000 florins
yet to come, he had nothing to gain and invaluable time to lose if he
asked the amateurs he was playing with to 'check and repeat' an
indecipherable message they were clearly unaware of sending.
But his contempt for London (though justified) left me in no doubt
whatever that Boni was caught.
And who else? What about Parsnip, Cabbage and Potato - and
other agents whose traffic he handled?
What about Ebenezer and his gallant attempts to stip, step and
stap?
What about the links these agents had with the Committee of Liberation? And the Secret Army? And Jambroes himself ? How corn- a
plete was Giskes's victory? Surely to God not total?
Balanced minds must decide the next step.
'Christ,' exploded Heffer when I owned up to Plan Giskes. 'NoWj
you've done it.'
He accompanied me to Nick's office and stood beside me while » tried to prove that Giskes was head of N section.
Nick listened to me with his eyes half closed, then glanced des
216
y at Heffer, and examined the indecipherable like a coroner with
itrescent corpse. A few moments later he put it in his briefcase,
rose abruptly from the desk.
[noring me completely, he hurried to the door, addressing Heffer
r his shoulder. 'See that he stays in his office. And stay there with
till I get back.'
he Guru and I had the office to ourselves.
\e refused to discuss Boni's traffic. His immediate concern was
harm I had done to the Signals directorate.
fith a final puff of his cigarette, and probably of me, he said that
k was about to be appointed head of Signals, that he'd spoken
fly of me to CD and Gubbins, and that my unauthorized actions
Kd reflect on his judgement in the worst possible way. They might
ICsult in Ozanne continuing in office, which would be the greatSService
anyone could render SOE
led to assure him that I would take full responsibility but he
I his head. My conduct would still cast doubts on Nick's judgerf
people.
I on his. He had been my greatest supporter till now.
ibing out his cigarette as if it were an errant coding officer, he
A me that when Gubbins returned from North Africa (he'd been
iince 21 January) my unauthorized action would be reported to
Ie also warned me that if there were any other irregularities I
|to own up to, now was the time to do so. It would be fatal to
bbins discover them for himself. Did Heffer suspect what I'd
Sing with de Gaulle's secret code? I'd sometimes wondered.
tShurried back without saying where he'd been and proceeded
the Guru's prescience. My report on Plan Giskes would be
> Gubbins when he returned in March and the General would
at action - if any - was called for. In the meantime, under
stances must I discuss Plan Giskes with N section or with
e in SOE. If the country sections found out that their traffic
ampered with by someone in Signals, they'd lose confidence
Ikole damn lot of us. Was this clear?
en clearer that he and Heffer had lost it in me.
217
TWENTY-FIVE
Permission to Proceed?
By the end of February, SOE's bid to convince the Chiefs of Staff
and other sceptics of its D-day potential had been launched with
last-chance urgency.
The six Gunnersides had dropped into Norway; Passy and Tommy
had landed in France; and for those who believed the collected works
of Herr Giskes (otherwise known as the Dutch traffic) the Golf team
had arrived safely in Holland, and were staying with their reception
committee. I was still waiting to hear when Tiltman's assistant was
arriving from Bletchley to discuss the production of WOKs but I now
had another reason for wanting to see him. I was determined to
introduce one-time pads for agents' traffic but couldn't do so without
Bletchley's help.
Although Tiltman had pronounced WOKs 'an excellent system as
the keys could be destroyed after every message', they had
two drawbacks. They obliged agents in the field to use doubletransposition,
a cumbersome process in any conditions, and for
security reasons every WOK message had to contain at least 100
letters, which was often far more than the agents needed to send.
But one-time pads were unbreakable even by Bletchley, and if they
were issued to agents their traffic would have a diplomatic level of
security, which was what it deserved. They could send as few as ten
letters and get off the air, and I wanted them to keep their WOKs in
reserve, and have poems in their heads in case they lost their silks or
couldn't get to them in time.
But there was one obstacle in this cipher Utopia, and I was counting;
on the Bletchley expert to help me surmount it. In its present form,
218
pad traffic was passed entirely in figures, which would
the dangers of clandestine communication.
ae-time pad (which had been invented by the Germans in the
}rid War, and adopted by all those with anything worth
equired the use of a code-book with figures printed opposite
rase.
xler looked up the requisite phrases, copied out the figures
iem, and wrote them underneath the figures of a onetime
; two groups were then added together without carrying the
ne pad: 8209
>ook: 0796 8995
rould be followed by the rest of the message, which would
mbreakable for as many years.
would be a very different matter if agents tried to use the
acedure. Figures took longer to transmit than letters, and
;ngthen their skeds (every figure consisted of five dots or
istead of the one dot or dash to a maximum of four dots or
vhich letters required). Figure traffic would also increase the
d of mistakes in transmission and (most serious of all) would
it from the rest of the clandestine traffic in the occupied
s.
imust be a way of adapting the principle by substituting
y figures and abandoning the code-books. But what was it?
led I had nothing to lose but sanity by trying to find out.
1^-two hours later I was no closer to the solution.
h
|rf telegrams from Stockholm in main-line cipher made the
Efts bearable.
February the six Gunnersides marched across the Hardanger
. and on 23 February linked up with the four starving
i Grouse (now code-named Swallow).
ided to attack the heavy-water plant wearing British battle-
at in the event of capture they had the right under the
219
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
Geneva Conventions to be treated as soldiers. Each man agreed to
take his L-tablet if capture seemed inevitable.
Carrying heavy explosives, they reached Rjukan, which was heavily
patrolled by SS reinforcements, and at thirty minutes past midnight
launched their attack. Less than an hour later the plant was virtually
demolished.* Even more incredibly, the ten agents suffered no
casualties.
Poulson, Helberg, Stromsheim, Storhaus and Idland made their
way to the frontier and crossed into Sweden, still wearing British
battle-dress. Knut Haugland, Haukelid and Kjelstrup stayed in Hardanger
to monitor the damage and were joined there by Einar Skinnarland.
His
file of indecipherables was just about ready for its second
volume, and he more than anyone would benefit from a simple system
such as a one-time pad consisting entirely of letters.
If only for his sake, I tried once again to find the formula. 5,000
attempts later I was still looking for it.
* It took the Germans six months to restore the plant to even partial capacity.
220
i TWENTY-SIX
; Court Martial
ia
|» the beginning of March, SOE was still operating without an Bcial directive, and every department seemed to be holding its lath in case it was its last. While C pushed ahead in all directions, (Iwere dress-rehearsing for a show which couldn't find backers.
|fwas luckier than most because I had one pleasurable experience.
uk given the opportunity to service the Danes, if providing them
JS poem-codes could be considered a service. Jlwas asked by Hollingsworth to brief nine agents, including the
l^nead of the Danish Resistance.
Ie Danish traffic made clear (and Stockholm's messages confed)
that a new organization had been formed in Denmark. Its
feame was Table, and Mogens Hammer (the present head of
h Resistance) was now called Table Top and his chief of Com;ations
(Duus Hansen) was now Table Napkin. Hammer was
kre that he was about to be replaced by Flemming Muus, who
I be known as Table Talk.
he first week of March I gave a final code-briefing to Muus,
I Salt, Pepper, Mustard and five other condiments.
new head of Danish Resistance was a large and exceedingly jovial
Inth the knowing eyes and infectious self-confidence of a standup fan booked to play Hamlet in his home town. He and his support- tof eight were to be dropped into Denmark on 12 March.
> inflicted poem-codes on three Dutch agents - Peter Dourlein,
endse and Peter Bogaart, who were code-named Sprout, Sea1 Kohlrabi respectively. The three Peters were dropped into
t on 9 March. I regarded their chances of survival as nil as
t arranged their reception committee.
221
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
On 10 March Heffer warned me that Gubbins was back in his
office, and that to help him evaluate the results of Plan Giskes Nick
had given him the report on the absence of Dutch indecipherables
which I'd written in January. He added that Gubbins would be far
too busy to see me in the day, and that I must stand by for a late
call during the next few nights.
Realizing that my stay in SOE might soon be coming to an end, I
renewed my attempts to devise a letter one-time pad but with no
more success than before, and it was a relief when I received a phone
call from Nick well after midnight instructing me to report to the
General's office at once.
Six months ago a novice night duty officer and an armed lance
corporal, who was supposed to be his escort, had patrolled the whole
of Michael House searching for scraps of paper, enemy agents and
each other.
Was it really only six months since that evening of havoc when I'd
knocked on the general's door to enquire if I should inspect his
credentials?
His terse 'cowe/' hadn't changed.
Nick was seated to his left and avoided looking at me, but the
general's scrutiny more than made up for it,
Pointing to a chair Gubbins then immersed himself in my Dutch
report, and within a minute had reached the third of its closely packed
pages. Colin Gubbins was a closely packed man.
Described by Tommy as 'a real Highland toughie, bloody brilliant,
should be the next CD', he was short enough to make me feel average,
with a moustache which was as clipped as his delivery and eyes which
didn't mirror his soul or any other such trivia. The general's eyes
reflected the crossed swords on his shoulders, warning all corners not
to cross them with him. It was a shock to realize that they were
focused on me.
'What's this word?' he demanded, pointing at a scribbled annotation.

' "Bollocks", sir.' It was a reference to Boni's claim that London
had sent indecipherables to Potato.
He turned the page in silence.
At his rate of reading he'd soon reach another annotation - 'Is this
222
too technical for some of the pricks who may have to read it?' from the sudden anger on his face I thought that he might already 6 reached it. He turned sharply to Nick. 'This breakdown of ununication between Signals and N section when, according to rks, the wrong codes were used. I want to know who was responp.
A full report.'
lick nodded eagerly as if glad to be of use. he Mighty Atom resumed his reading but stopped suddenly in
middle of a page and glanced at Nick. Nothing was said but Nick fc the slightest of nods, as if he understood what was worrying
general. It was the kind of look I'd seen my parents exchange. fst general levelled it at me. 'This report - how many copies did
iftake?'
|tte, sir. Colonel Nicholls has it.'
|ow many people have read it? The complete list.'
blonel Nicholls and Captain Heffer, sir.'
»e Dutch know nothing about it?' &, sir. They think the message was cancelled.' ho typed this report?' itid, sir. Sorry about the mistakes.'
Bir Secretary hasn't seen it?' 1,'sir. She wasn't with me at the time.'
e was a warning gleam in those forbidding eyes. 'What did 1 Colonel Tiltman about the Dutch situation?'
hing, sir. I was instructed not to discuss the country sections.'
i you always obey your instructions?' fSis. But in this instance I did.'
sb was silence as Celt met Jew on the frontier of instinct. We (tot our separate ways.
tfnute later he reached the last page and re-read the closing
Itph, which was probably a reflection on my style of writing. en hard to find the right finish at four in the morning:
t despite the pressure under which they've been working, I deaths by drowning, by exploding minefields, and by dropcidents,
despite every kind of difficulty, danger, setback and
ion, not a single Dutch agent has been so overwrought that
223
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
he's made a mistake in his coding ... It seems to me unarguable
that the bulk of their messages have been sent by the Germans and
the main question is no longer which agents are caught but which
are free.
The general closed the report and, without pausing for breath,
proved that he was a field-marshaller of facts: 'According to you,
twenty per cent of all indecipherables are caused by Morse mutilation
to the indicator-groups, and seventy per cent by mistakes in the
agents' coding. Of these mistakes, twenty-five per cent are caused by
wrongly encoded indicator-groups.'
An excellent example of total recall, but what was his point?
'Now then - the Dutch traffic. According to you, the only indecipherables
received from Holland were due to Morse-mutilated indicator-groups
- but you don't explain how you people distinguish
between an indicator-group that's been Morse-mutilated, one that's
been mistransmitted, and one that's been misencoded. Explain now.'
He'd expect a lightning synopsis, which wasn't possible.
'Answer fully.'
Was the bloody man telepathic?
In any event, he should have addressed his question to Nick. He
was the expert on Morse technicalities. But Nick's eyes were still
averted.
Tap tap ...
And his face a forbidden war zone.
Tap tap ... It was the general's fingers drumming on the desk.
I decided to answer him in kind.
Resting my elbow on one end of the Dutch report and my fingertips
on the other, I demonstrated to the glowering general that WT operators
fell into two main categories: those who waggled their wrists
and those who waggled their elbows. The elbow-wagglers were more
consistent but if any operator were exceptionally tense or had an
attack of 'Morse-cramp', the slightest deviation in his touch could
butcher the indicator groups. The letter N (-.) could be transmitted
as a (.-), the letter l (.-..) as y (-.-), and the commonest letter of all,
e (.), could easily become the next commonest letter, T ().
Tap tap from the general's fingers. Too much detail?
224
Ipeeding up my crawling commentary, I explained that monitoring
7T operator's traffic was like listening to a foreigner with a broken ent, and signalmasters could always distinguish between mistransted groups and Morse-mutilated ones for a very simple reason:
it atmospheric conditions affected all the code-groups, often
king the clear-text impossible to read, whereas an operator's mises
affected only individual letters.
[lie warning gleam was back. 'That's all very well as far as it goes.
to what if an indicator-group had been wrongly encoded, then
Migly transmitted, and atmospheric conditions were bad? How
lid you detect the original mistake?'
Sow indeed?
fe would be quite beyond us, sir - and it's about as likely as C
; SOE a vote of confidence . . .'
; atmosphere deteriorated sharply but for once my courage
fe*and, sir ... if the point of your questions is to suggest that we tp had indecipherables from Holland due to coding mistakes but ftgly attributed them to other causes, could you please explain
|lo Dutch agent has ever misnumbered a transposition-key, "hatla
column, misspelt a word in his poem, or made any of the acoding mistakes which free agents will continue to make until is are introduced?' Edown, Marks,' he said quietly. mdn't realize I wasn't, and complied forthwith. looked at me like a marksman reassessing his target. Then a light marched into his eyes, and he began rummaging through kes evidence' which was stacked in front of him. 'Where's aned indecipherable? I want another look at how it looked
"looks in one sentence? - Had something disturbed him?
pent several minutes (the equivalent of hours by normal stan|ktudying
the jumble of malformed words which Boni had
*,':.
S. Are you telling me you don't know of a single agent who
liable to decode this message?'
"augland, sir - if he had the time.'
225
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'Did you brief him?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Did you brief Boni?'
'No, sir.'
'Then how do you know he's not another Knut Haugland.?'
Opening my briefcase, I handed him Boni's training-school reports.
These showed that he was a first-class WT operator but only an
average coder who was frequently careless and took short cuts which
seldom worked. The instructor strongly recommended more coding
practice for Boni before he left for the field.
The general immediately asked if I'd read Knut Haugland's report.
'Yes, sir.'
'How did his instructor assess him?'
'Below average, sir.'
'Then why do you trust the judgement of Boni's instructor if you
can't trust Haugland's?'
'It might save time, sir, if I showed you the only thing I have any
faith in at all...' Delving once more into my briefcase, I handed him
a complete list of the keys the girls had tried in their blanket attack
on Boni's indecipherable. There were 6,000 of them.
He seemed astonished when I explained what they were. 'Do you
always go to these lengths to break an indecipherable?' It was the
first time his tone had been muted.
'That's only phase one, sir. Some indecipherables take days to break. The girls never give up.'
'And "WOKs would put a stop to these indecipherables?'
'And to a lot of other things, sir. Including meaningless security
checks.'
The gleam again. 'Did you tell the coders this was a deliberate
indecipherable?'
'No, sir! They all think it was caused by a teleprinting mistake.'
He brusquely conceded that Boni had little or no chance of breaking
the indecipherable but before I could say 'Hallelujah.' - or Marks &
Co.'s equivalent, 'He's paid in cash.' - he'd begun demolishing the whole concept of Plan Giskes.
Why should Boni risk coming on the air to ask for the indecipherable
to be repeated when he had all the operational instructions he
226
ded from his other messages?. And why was I so convinced that i do so 'by reflex'? In his experience agents were unpredictable at .best of times, let alone in the middle of dropping operations (as
iStomach now was).
I then targeted my 'Potato theory'. Just because Boni had informed (don of Potato's indecipherables, it didn't follow that he'd notify Ae moment he received one himself. 'And if my memory serves tight, it took him the best part of a week to report Potato's
scipherables. He's only had yours for three days.' for could he accept that Boni's missed skeds were evidence of
(tes's timing as my anxieties about Holland were based on pre(Ss
which could easily be wrong! - Incidentally, how did I know
Itofch about Giskes?
ifead to admit that the little I did know had come from Nick.
fe'shot his next question at me as quietly as a machine-gun can.
I have similar anxieties about any other country section's agents?
tary now of saying anything, I brusquely informed him that all tages in the poem-code were suspect, and I had no doubt at all
Khe Germans were running some French and Belgian agents just
flfully as they were the Dutch. The only difference was that we
Hiad proof that Boni was caught.
I reminded me sharply that he was still far from convinced that
Igenious little trick had proved anything at all except that I was
rfe of heinous misconduct. He then proceeded to make three
t^lear:
is.'.'
iThere was a place in SOE for the unorthodox but not for the |Wholly undisciplined
y unauthorized actions were absolutely inexcusable the country sections found out that their traffic had been
ipered with they'd lose all confidence in the Signals director- and ideas like WOKs wouldn't even get a hearing.
I that he'd dismiss me on the spot if Nick hadn't urged him e one more chance. As it was, he was still in two minds as
| should be done about me. f by drowning, by exploding minefields, by 227
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'But before discussing your future, if any, in SOE I must make one
thing absolutely clear to you.'
He then made a statement which caused a drop of perspiration to
parachute from the end of my nose and land on the edge of his desk.
He was satisfied that my report raised enough questions to warrant
an independent investigation into the Dutch agents' security, and he
would institute one immediately. He was particularly disturbed about
the interlocking of so many WT circuits, which was potentially
extremely dangerous. He got a quick nod from my saviour.
Before I could begin to absorb the miracle he produced his
caveats.
If I wished to stay in SOE, under no circumstances must I discuss
Holland with anyone but Nick and himself. And if I had any further
anxieties about the Dutch I must consult Nick immediately. 'And if
for any reason he's not available, you will telephone Miss Jackson
and come direct to me. Is that understood?'
'Yes, sir.'
He looked harder at me than at any time since the meeting began. 'If
you've been up to anything else without Colonel Nicholls's permission
you'd better stop it at once. I don't want to curb your initiative but
this sort of thing must never happen again. Is that understood?'
'Yes, sir.'
I must have used the wrong tone because I got his blackest look
yet. 'You're not the only one who's concerned about our agents'
safety. Certain steps are taken that you know nothing about, and
you will no longer question the decisions we make or ask questions
about them. Is that also understood?'
'Yes, sir.'
Once again Celt met Jew on their favourite frontier, and I could
tell from his expression that my passport was in order. He signalled
my dismissal and I stood up to go.
'For your information, there's one more thing. I am not one of those
pricks who found the report too technical. As far as I'm concerned, it
wasn't technical enough.'
Is that a twinkle that I see before me, the handle towards my
throat?
228
1't discuss the meeting with Heffer when I reeled into his office
morning, nor did he expect me to. But I did tell him that Nick
ntervened to help me keep my job.
m sound surprised,' he said. 'What else would you expect? But
tk you should know what really saved your bacon - no insult
ded to the pig.' He kept me waiting for a puff. 'It was Tiltman.'
'as beyond surprise by this time.
in you guess what he said about you to CD and Gubbins?'
iat I serve the best black-market lunch in London?'
mething a bit more unexpected. He said that as far as Bletchley
Soncerned you were the one that got away!'
added an afterthought: 'It wouldn't suit SOE if you got away
Ithley.'
still couldn't get away from my failure to devise a letter onetime
d?
Isle.

r
229
TWENTY-SEVEN
Criminal Negligence
I had a feeling I couldn't define that there was something in Boni's
traffic which I'd completely overlooked, and that some action was
called for that I'd neglected to take.
More convinced than ever that every message he sent was some Dutch agent's obituary notice, I decided to become Boni-immersed,
and divided his traffic into two categories:
1 His normal traffic, if the term could be applied to it
2 His 'special messages' from Victory and Vinus, which he'd
begun transmitting last December.
His Normal Traffic
The March moon-period (which began on the llth) was a bumper
one for him. He was alerted on the 10th that seven containers would
be dropped any time from tomorrow night onwards, and that the
10,000 florins he'd been waiting for since January would be inside a
cell marked with a white cross. He must tell London at once if Parsnip
and the reception committee could handle the containers in two separate
deliveries.
Boni confirmed on the 13th that separate containers would present
no problems, and asked for two sets of bicycle tyres to be included Jj
for the reception-committee.
Could anything be more persuasive than this last-moment request
for bicycle tyres? Giskes deserved the 10,000 florins for his attention to detail.
230
CRIMIMAL KEGLIGBIiTCE
tot respect for him brought me no closer to my elusive mistake,
I I reluctantly turned to the traffic where I was likeliest to find
wry time I read the messages which Boni transmitted on behalf Victory and Vinus my waxy inner ear started to throb. Desperate faredge up whatever was worrying me, I made a precis in longhand he Victory-Vinus-Boni relationship in the hope that the tedium Dying to decipher my own handwriting would force me to
nowledge what I'd overlooked.
The Victory-Vinus-Boni Relationship
(real name Koos Vorrinck) was a senior member of the
al Committee, and one of Holland's leading politicians. A
ated partisan, he worked independently of SOE but badly gd to communicate with the Dutch government-in-exile, and fchis friend Vinus (real name Levinus van Looe) to provide him
bWl operator.
is, a member of the Cabbage/Parsnip group, asked London if auld handle Victory's traffic until new operators could be sent
d with N section's consent he began transmitting it last feer, and had continued ever since.
gjthe messages were long, and most of them contained infort
which London already knew, but N section regularly replied ft and sent copies (some of them accurate) to the government-inIfho
also replied to them. Via Boni.
I; of these messages (number 60 of 16 February) had puzzled
(Mi I first read it, and caused me to ask questions which had
|^to do with my role as a cryptographer.
|erted that a Gestapo agent named Johnny was telling Dutch
I that he'd returned from London with important instructions
(b» from the Dutch government, and Victory wanted the BBC
||<broadcasting messages twice daily warning the Dutch public a dealings with him. The broadcasts should begin at once,
hnny did more damage'.
i replied on 17 February asking for a detailed description
231
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
of Johnny as without one the warnings would have little effect! The
broadcasts would begin as soon as they received it.
Johnny's vital statistics didn't arrive for another three weeks. On
12 March Boni transmitted a detailed description of the alleged agent
(he sounded remarkably like Father's partner Mark Cohen whose
movements I'd check) but the message made no attempt to explain
the delay.
Surely experienced agents like Vinus didn't need to be told that a
detailed description was vital? And surely someone of Victory's calibre
would have provided it in the first place? So why had it taken
three weeks to arrive?
Because Johnny didn't exist?
In which case, I envied him.
The feeling that I'd not only been careless with the Dutch traffic
but criminally negligent was now a conviction. My last chance of
pinpointing it lay in a segment of Boni's traffic which had raised his
transmissions to a different level.
On 28 December he reported that Vinus had asked him to transmit
an important communication from Victory to Queen Wilhelmina.
The communication would consist of twelve separate messages which
would add up to one long telegram. He asked London's permission
to proceed.
On 1 January he was authorized to send the twelve messages on
two conditions:
1 That they didn't endanger his other transmissions.
2 That they weren't of a purely political nature.
On 14 January Boni agreed to send the messages if their importance
warranted it, but admitted for the first time that Victory's traffic had
begun to interfere with his other transmissions (another mastertouch?).
He left the final decision about future Victory messages to
London.
On 15 January (number 54) he was authorized to start transmitting
the queen's messages, and told to await instructions regarding further
Victory messages.
232
n 17 January he transmitted the first of the twelve messages, and
ast of them was received on 30 January.
l from being purely political (a contradiction in terms?). Victory's ages were highly militant. They cited many examples of German tlity, and urged immediate reprisals. German cities should be bed, leading Nazis in Holland targeted, and Dutch citizens told they would have the full support of the queen if they engaged as of sabotage and resistance against their German oppressors. took the government-in-exile the best part of a month to reply jctory, which was either an insult to his judgement or a tribute
| eloquence.
g|rily, on 2 March, they sent him a message via Boni (number
biflthking him on the queen's behalf for his 12 messages. But their
Ipmade clear that although they were aware of the Germans'
Itty, they feared that the measures which he advocated would
i;|n even greater oppression, and urged him to use his consider- fluence to discourage any form of retaliation at the present
?ry made no direct response to this. But on 5 March Boni
d London that he'd received a further batch of 'Victory mes- from Vinus, and that in the absence of instructions to the
he would begin transmitting them, which he proceeded to
.his customary skill on 5 and 11 March. One message in (T redefined 'Dutch courage'. It stated that in readiness for
aim collapse, the National Committee was attempting to form feer Government which would remain in office until Queen
ina and the Dutch Government returned to Holland. All six
gofthe National Committee including Vorrinck were referred
tte in this message which had been transmitted in a
)grapher-in-exile realized that if he spent any more time or a mistake which might be illusory instead of producing
, Giskes's victory would be even more complete. I put the
Be aside, and resumed my attempts to devise a letter one- pThree hours later I realized what I'd overlooked. A doctor EC been struck off for it, a soldier court-martialled, an
l! promoted. I'd been so busy trying to prove that Boni was
233
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
captured that I'd given no thought whatever to prolonging his life.
I remembered Buckmaster's dictum 'the best way to help a captured
agent is to pretend that he's free'. I'd taken no such steps to help
Boni. Instead I'd sent him a deliberate indecipherable.
Giskes may not have realized it was a trap as he had no reason to
credit Baker Street's poem-bound amateurs with the ability to set
one. But surely he'd expect even SOE's code department to issue some
elementary precautions when a WT operator transmitted messages to
a head of State, and received her replies, and disclosed the existence
of the National Committee, and named its members? Yet all I'd done
was ask N section to warn Vinus to use different prefixes for his and
Victory's messages, (number 48 of 28 December), and issued new
poems for the Cabbage group.
When I realized what I should have done I hit my forehead so hard
I improved its shape.
As per my instructions from Gubbins, I took the problem to Nick.
He listened sympathetically while I admitted my negligence but I
hadn't come for forgiveness. There might still be time to produce
some bicycle tyres of our own, and I told him what I thought they
should be.
He undertook to consult Gubbins immediately.
An hour later he authorized me to make an appointment with N
section to explain the security precautions I wanted to take. But on
no account must I discuss Plan Giskes, or disclose why I believed that
Boni and most other Dutch agents were blown. He added that
the independent enquiry into the situation in Holland had already
begun.
I asked for an appointment with Killick and got one with Bingham. |
He listened so attentively that I had to double-lock my thoughts as
I explained that I was a bit worried about the number of Victory
messages which Boni was transmitting, especially in view of their ^
importance. I was also worried that Victory might discuss the contents,
of his messages with some of his colleagues. ';
Bingham agreed that this was likely, and asked what I had in mind^
I suggested that Vinus should be warned that it was bad security Wj
Victory's traffic to be transmitted verbatim, and that in future
must paraphrase each Victory message by putting it into his o^
234
ds before it was encoded. I also suggested that he should insert
mdom letters at the beginning and end of each message, and be
inded to use transposition-keys at least 18 letters long.
ingham agreed to this at once for which I could happily have feed his pelt.
he message was transmitted to Boni on 18 March, and on the i he sent another Victory message. It didn't seem to have been tphrased but it might well have been encoded before London's
ructions were received.
be seven containers and the 10,000 florins (but no bicycle tyres) t dropped on the night of the 24th, and on the 25th Boni acknowliid
their receipt. During this sked he received a message promising
HtSEe tyres would be despatched in the next moon-period beginning
ril. Golf surfaced for the first time on the 24th, and announced
he was ready to start his regular skeds. London congratulated and Broadbean on their safe arrival, and advised them to take
s quietly until they were sent further instructions.
l 30 March Ebenezer (who'd given up inserting stip-step-stap in
iessages probably in despair) was instructed to investigate the felities of sabotaging submarines with the help of the Catarrh t (number 173). An almost identical message had been sent to
|n 25 March (number 68). And so everything in Holland seemed
|ttnder control, and I didn't doubt whose. Aout any warning an idea for a letter one-time pad fell into
I'and two hours later I produced a working model which I
led a LOP.
Ited Nick to be the first person to see it.
to his office, I learned from the typing pool (the best
body in SOE) that he'd been summoned to a meeting of
ative Council, and that his secretary was out walking her
6» a permanent fixture we'd gladly have dispensed with. ded to leave the LOP on his desk with a note attached to it:
|KA from DYC/M. Permission to proceed?' tso elated that for the first time in years my handwriting was
t desk was cluttered by his standards, immaculate by mine. "I the LOP in the centre of his blotter, where it might have
235
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
a chance of jumping the queue, and wished I could have been there
when he realized what it was.
I was about to tiptoe away when I spotted a grey folder on the top
of his in-tray. There was a sheet of paper protruding from it. It was
covered in green ink, which Nick invariably used when compiling aides-memoire of particular importance.
I considered writing another note 'To MS/A from DYC/M. Permission
to read your aide-memoireY Hoping that his meeting would
last all morning, and that the Pekinese would pee the length and
breadth of Baker Street, I opened the folder. It contained sheaves of
notes in Nick's flowing longhand.
One glance was enough.
They were headed 'The Role of the Dutch Resistance on D-Day',
and I was as green as Nick's ink by the end of page one.
236
TWENTY-EIGHT
Green Ink
tsthe heading 'Secret Army' Nick made some astonishing disclos- The Chiefs of Staff expected the Secret Army to be ready on
h to disrupt German communications with Holland, France
algium. They also expected it to delay the passage of German s'from Holland into France, to block the Rhine passages, and pk the Wehrmacht from the rear on a signal from the High
and.
then the real shocks began. irooke had become one of the principal supporters of SOE's
Hand. In his view, 'if the Dutch uprising could even partially
lithe German forces on D-Day it would be a major contrifk Overlord'. He'd therefore instructed SOE to give Holland's Bents priority over all other country sections, including
|Hie'd also insisted that the Secret Army should stay completely vei until D-Day began, 'to preserve its security'.
Udn't refer to the possibility that Giskes had become an
,oolonel in the Secret Army. Nor was he even mentioned by it I found Churchill's name instead, and what Nick said
increased my rising panic:
continues to have faith in SOE despite the efforts of
s Foreign Secretary] to undermine it. The PM has given
and his full backing, and is relying on Morton to keep
med of the Secret Army's progress. Morton is well disSOE
but could be turned. Essential to retain his
237
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
Morton's name was new to me. I subsequently discovered that he was one of the PM's most trusted advisers and chairman of the
Committee on Allied Resistance.
The first welcome surprise was Churchill's attitude to the Intelligence
services:
Churchill suspects the Intelligence services of carefully doctoring
any reports from the field which cast doubts on their efficiency and
insists that they show them to Morton in their original form before
he submits the important ones to him. SOE included in this.
A note in the margin read: 'What show Morton re the Secret Army?'
I had to restrain myself from adding, 'Why not my coding report?'
I realized how much Nick knew about Holland which he hadn't
told me, and how little I'd found out for myself.
The next page provided further confirmation.
The Chiefs are becoming increasingly anxious about Jambroes
[Marrow], Having approved his appointment as Commander in
Chief of the Secret Army when he was dropped into Holland in
July '42 [June actually] they now want him recalled for urgent
consultations, and are pressing to know the reasons for the delay.
Morton equally anxious to see him in London. Their constant
enquiries re news of Jambroes difficult for CD and Colin...
The next three lines were so heavily crossed out that they looked
as if they'd been covered in green wallpaper. But what followed them ^ was all too legible. I
Colin has now informed the Chiefs that a support team has been
dropped into Holland to expedite Jambroes' return via French and
Belgian escape-lines. Confirmation received that agents arrived safely and being sheltered for next few days by reception_co»Ss
mittee.
The underlining was Nick's, the reassurance about the Golf team wa
Boni's.
238
1 the best horror stories have tranquil patches, and after making agh estimate of the number of sets, signal-plans and codes the t Army would need for internal communication and for traffic
London, Nick resorted to some cryptic one-liners:
izzard to be replaced as head of N section? Who suitable take er ... ? Should reception-committees be allowed in Holland?
rely blind-drops safer? Same applies other territories! Has MVD torch Intelligence Service) been penetrated? How London person1
recruited? C also concerned. Is Dutch Government in exile
Bununicating directly with Holland? Possibly via fleet? Major pach regulations if happening. How best looked into? C also
||Hcious but no help.
I- (jpped blind on to the last page. It was less than half full but the
(Writing warned me that I'd landed on a minefield. Nick's sloping
t-were suddenly tense as if the vowels had backache.
I" .
| Chiefs of Staff have still not issued an official directive to SOE ^unless they do so within next few weeks, fear C will have a day. The importance of our terms of reference being formally
ed is to be raised yet again at Cabinet level but much will
ad on Plan Holland's progress . . .
1 paragraph was in block capitals.
)RNE [SOE's Minister] DOING WHAT HE CAN TO |Y MORTON BUT MORTON SEEMS TO REGARD HIM
(GHTWEIGHT. SITUATION NOW CRITICAL, AND
L IT IS RESOLVED IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT SOE CON&S
ITS EFFORTS TO ...
'r,
t% where it ended.
s to what. Nick? - to conceal from the Chiefs and Morton
> traffic is blown, that the Secret Amy might no longer be
id that Plan Holland might have to be aborted? why four Boni-linked agents were despatched last week?
239
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
And why three more are being sent in next? - Because if the drops
were cancelled the Chiefs and Morton would demand to know the
reasons?
All this for the sake of a directive they might never issue? - and
which they'd withhold till 84 gave its books away if we failed them
in Holland?
Of all the territories on which the mandate depended, why in God's
name did it have to be the Netherlands?
No wonder my Dutch report got the reception it did.
No wonder Tiltman must know nothing of it.
But this kind of wondering was the equivalent of thinking with a
stammer . . .
I told myself to hold on a minute, though I wasn't sure to what.
Nick was the only prop I had, and I'd begun to lose confidence in
him. He was fighting what was surely his last war (if it weren't we
were engaged in a farce), and was hoping to be appointed head of
the Signals directorate. No one deserved promotion more but how
far would he go to secure it? Would he abuse his knack of making
authoritative statements which brooked no contradiction (an ability
rare amongst Signals Officers unless very junior)? Would he say what
he was told to about Holland to help SOE retain the tenuous confidence
of the Chiefs of Staff ? - would he condone a burial-day for
the Dutch to avert a field-day for C?
Not the Nick I knew, and I was ready to stake Tommy's survival
on it. But what about the Gubbins I didn't know?
Everything I'd sensed about him at our meeting, and had learned
about him since, convinced me that he wouldn't either - not the spiky
little bastard with an ME on his tunic and an Intelligence department
in his head which Tommy regarded as the greatest asset our agents
had.
Then why were Boni-linked operations still being mounted? - had
the enquiry into Dutch security already taken place and made non- ^ sense of my 'proof? - or did SOE have a Dutch master-plan I couldn't ^ even guess at? Remembering Gubbins's words 'a lot goes on in SOE
you know nothing about' I realized that the time had come for me to issue myself with a directive which I'd be bound by for as long aSj
I was in charge of agents' codes.
240
would stop trying to understand SOE-mindedness, it was an
scipherable to which I'd never find the key. I would give up quesiing
SOE's plans, policies and operations, they too were beyond
I would stick to what I did least badly. I would give SOE's agents
safest possible codes, the most efficient coders, and a team of
^Y officers they would find it a pleasure to be briefed by.
ut in my own dealings with agents I would substitute technique
involvement. I would attack their indecipherables, watch their
irity checks, and do whatever was necessary to safeguard their
fie. But the content of that traffic must be left to those who
erstood it.
replaced the aide-memoire in its folder, and left the desk exactly
'd found it. But I couldn't bring myself to leave the LOP where
ghtfully belonged.
had nothing else to cling to in a green-ink world.
241
TWENTY-NINE
Best Read at Night
Throughout March we were Morse-stunned by the traffic which
poured into the wireless station at Grendon (now called 53a) and to
our new station at Poundon (53b)
Tommy had sent three messages. The first two described the efforts
he, Passy and Brossolette were making to weld dissident Resistance
groups into a Secret Army under one Field Commander, but it was
his third which earned him a box of the finest.
He'd discovered that under a compulsory service order all Frenchmen
were required to register their dates of birth, and those aged
between nineteen and thirty-two were sent to Germany to work in
factories, or were despatched to the Russian front. Those who failed
to register were hunted by the French and German police working
in unison, and he estimated that every week at least 20,000 Frenchmen
were picked up on the streets of Paris, put into lorries, and sent
to Germany. He was convinced that the age-limit would soon be
raised to forty-two, and then to the middle fifties, and that when this
happened there'd be little or no hope of forming a Secret Army.
He suggested to London that all Frenchmen should be encouraged
by radio broadcasts, underground newspapers and every conceivable
form of propaganda to avoid conscription by leaving France or by living
clandestinely. Few would be able to manage the former but the latter
course should be open to all if they were given sufficient help. He urged
London to send large quantities of francs and forged ration cards so that
all who deserted could buy food. He was convinced that if London
responded quickly Frenchmen would desert in their tens of thousands,.^ perhaps to the hills, where they could be provisioned by London,! trained and formed into the nucleus of a Secret Army.
242
ie concept of the Maquis had effectively been born.
tt much of the March traffic was best read at night, when wincing 1 be more private. Messages from Norway and Stockholm
ribed the atrocities carried out by the Gestapo and the Quisling
tiunent on Norwegian citizens in the Hardangar area as retrimi
for the successful attack on the heavy-water plant. Homes had
,bumt, women and children arrested, and hundreds of innocent
lie taken hostage and sent to concentration camps. The nine
Item's were still safe.
^naming Muus had replaced Mogens Hammer as head of Danish Stance, and Hammer had been recalled to London and promised Uportant new post when he returned to Denmark - though HolIHOrth
had no intention of sending him back. Ola Lippmann, a
|g Dane who'd worked for the Resistance since its inception, and
p the first clandestine newspapers as well as the escape lines to fen, and was now in charge of political intelligence, would not
|be Muus's principal assistant, he could take over for him at a tot's notice. (He eventually did.)
lithe night of the 22nd Cammaerts the plodder (code-named
(^lumbered into a Lysander with his fellow agent Dubourdin ey were deposited in France a few hours later. Their places in
Sander were at once taken by Peter Churchill and Henri Frager, were shuttled back to London to have breakfast with Buck's.

ie all this was happening the code department was a Maquis ^wanted to supply.
ransposition-keys which Tiltman had offered to produce by ; at Bletchley had finally arrived and were a great disappoint- here were long spaces between each pair of keys which would wm difficult to photograph, and I'd found mistakes in several ttumbers had been duplicated. Nor were the key-lengths suf- (;varied. The six WOK-makers were doing a better job by
en greater disappointment was the non-arrival of Tiltman's
who'd be responsible for mass-producing the keys. I was
Jtto get his reactions to letter one-time pads, which I regarded ^d for legitimacy in a world full of bastards. It was now
243
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
essential for my concept of substituting letters for figures to be vetted
by an expert. "Without Bletchley's approval, I couldn't proceed with
it.
The system would also need Nick's support. I'd explained it to him
a week ago and he'd promised to think it over, but I hadn't heard
from him since. I was about to break his door down when his secretary
phoned me. Nick wanted to see me immediately. Tiltman's assistant
would be arriving in an hour, and it was essential that we discussed
the agenda.
A Lysander couldn't have got me there more quickly.
244
THIRTY
The War Dance
pment I crossed Nick's sacrosanct threshold I knew that I'd
unmoned to a conference extraordinaire.
Bad Heffer were so immersed in a letter one-time pad that its
I daddy had been obliged to knock twice to gain admittance.
grere examining the fledgling code as if unable to decide whether
listen or circumcize it.
&ting to a chair without looking up, Nicky brusquely informed
|t he'd explained the system to CD and Gubbins, who were
|Bpressed by its simplicity. However, they insisted that it mustn't
id without Bletchley's blessing. '. . . which you mustn't count on
J^Tney may have reservations about one-time pads for agents.'
t't need to ask why. If the Germans copied the idea, Bletchley
> longer break the codes of their trainee agents when they
ted practice messages which Y intercepted. (The agents used
t codes when they landed in England as they did at training
s, are you listening to me? We must settle what you're going
(Commander Dudley-Smith.' He pointed out that the com|touldn't
spend long with me as he had another appointment,
r he was expecting to discuss the volume of machine-made
A'need from Bletchley over the next few months. He then
2 that the commander was 'exceptionally bright', and was
sk me some awkward questions. On no account must I
ecode requirements of individual country sections, or allow
^be drawn into discussing SOE's future commitments. 'Is
Rttood?'
^' I nearly said 'only too well'.
245
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Bletchley worked closely with C, and the less the 'bastards of Broadway'
knew about our plans for expansion the better our chances of
survival.
'And there's one other thing. Heffer and I don't insist on this but
neither of us think you should discuss one-time pads with him -' He
turned to Heffer for confirmation.
The Guru looked at me thoughtfully. 'The timing's wrong,' he said.
He then explained between puffs that letter one-time pads were an
important new concept but their use by SOE might involve Bletchley
in a conflict of interests, and I'd be well advised not to refer to them
until a special meeting could be arranged with Tiltman present.
The wizard of Bletchley had been present ever since I'd met him,
but Heffer misread my expression. 'I need hardly remind you,' he
said, doing just that, 'that he is SOE's coding adviser, that he did support your concept of WOKs, and that if letter-pads make Bletchley's
task more difficult, then the least we can do is . . .'
I switched off at this point because I'd prefer to see German agents
sitting in the War Cabinet or even running 84 than allow SOE's
agents to be deprived of LOPs for a day longer than was absolutely
necessary, providing that the system had no flaws.
Nick pointed his finger at me as if he didn't want it back. 'You
must learn to concentrate on one code at a time, and "WOKs are more
than good enough to be going on with.'
But good enough wasn't good enough if we could produce something
better, though I had the sense not to say so.
Thirty minutes later my visitor arrived.
Nick was right in saying that Commander Dudley Smith was 'exceptionally
bright'. His gold braid glistened, his eyes sparkled and his mind was a torpedo looking for a target.
Firing practice began at once. He regretted he couldn't lunch with
me, as he'd heard 'excellent accounts of Baker Street cuisine', but ^ he'd be glad of some coffee if we had any going (it was already on rt»J
way). He congratulated me on the charts for breaking indecipherablWj
which I'd shown Tiltman, and was then kind enough to explain thff various uses to which Bletchley put them, none of which had eves
occurred to me, though I nodded knowingly. It was a subtle way
246
aninding me that amateurs don't belong in the same ring as
sssionals. His round on points.
^turned the compliment by thanking him for Bletchley's machine6
keys, and he at once asked what was wrong with them.
fccided not to dissimulate until it was absolutely necessary, and
ted out that the long spaces between the keys would make them adt to reproduce. I also pointed out some mistakes in them, (ding duplicated numbers. He thanked me for bringing them to
ttention and assured me that the mistakes wouldn't occur again,
ttich point I began to suspect that they were deliberate.
fe asked whether country sections shared their forward-planning
Nthe Signals directorate, and I replied that as far as I could see 'had none to share.
Iras saved from further questions by the arrival of the coffee and
it-market sandwiches.
rftited until he was involved with the problem of selection before
luting the bill: 'Commander, I've a favour to ask.' I ahead,' he said with smoked-Salmon-induced euphoria. Id him that I'd been working on a new code which I hadn't ht of when Tiltman was here. Could he possibly spare the time
SUss it with me?
laid that he'd be glad to help in any way he could, though it the better if I waited for Tiltman's next visit.
lvalue your opinion, Commander.'
|t sort of code is it?' he enquired with ill-concealed reluctance. topped chewing when I said it was a new form of onetime
Sich used letters instead of figures and required no code-book.
|duced a LOP which Joan Dodd had managed to have printed yas a very special favour.
me as if I were an agent,' he said, 'or a country section head.'
rt to me just as Tiltman had when we broke Skinnarland's rable.
him to choose a message but he preferred to leave it to me.
live Tiltman"?' I suggested. Sttid that,' he said.
ftve preferred 'Vivat Tiltman' to show off my Latin, but I
|» phrase at least fifteen letters long.
247
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I asked him to copy out the first fifteen letters of his one-time pad
and write our benediction beneath them.
His handwriting was a flotilla of small ships setting out for Dunkirk.
Twelve seconds later (it was important to time him) he completed
the first part of his message.

One-time pad:
Message:
OPXCA PLZDR BHTEJ
LONGL I VET I LTMAN

'You now have to encode each pair of letters in turn, starting with
the first pair o over L, and ending with the last } over n . ..'
'How do I do that.?' he asked, as if his future depended on it.
'With the help of a substitution square, which may look complicated
but couldn't be simpler.'
I produced one for him.
ABCDEFGHI J KLMNOPQRSTUVWX
A?
A°
A1
A'1
A'
A"
A11
A"
A'
A"
A"
AA'
A'
A8
AA°
A1'
A*
A"
A°
A"
A" A
B'
B"
B"
B*
B"
B'
B"
B'
B °
B'"
B1'
B1
B"
B'1
B'
B'
B8
BB°
B1'
B'
B1'
B1 B
C'
C"
C11
C8
C"
C'
C1
C1'
C'
C"
C'
C'
C"
CC'1
C"
C"
C"
C"
C"
C'i
C'
C * j
D'
D"
D0
DDd
D"
D"
D2
D°
D"
D'
D1
D1'
D"
D'
D"
D"
D"
D"
D"
D1
D8
D' D
E°
E"
E"
E'
E°
E"
E'
E"
E"
E"
E'1
E°
E'
E'
E"
E"
E1
E2
E°
E"
E'
E"
E e E
F "
F '
F °
F '
F
p.
pb
fv
F'
F"
F -
pk
F '
F1
F'
F1
p.
FF'
P«
ph
F c
pop
G1
G'
G"
G°
G«
G°
G"
G'
G''
G°
G'
G"G1
G'
G'
G"
G"
G'
G*
G'
G"
GGG
H'
H°
H"
H"
H'
H8
H"
H"
H"
H'
H1
H"
H''
H°
H1
H"
H'
H'
Hd
H'
H1
HHH
I I
"
I i
I w
1 "
I "
I "
I b
I
I '
I 8
[ a
I '
l °
I f
I x
I k
I '
I y
[
[ '
I h
1 ' l
J °
I '
J
J
I q
I '
J e
J l
I °
J °
I "
I d
I a
J 8
I1II
'
J "
I
I "
I '
I
it
K'
v m
K°
K"
K"
K"
K"
K1'
K"
K'
K1
K'
K1'
K"
K'
K'
KK"
K"
K'
K°
K"
K'K
L11
L'
L"
L'
L"
L"
L'
L'
L"
L"
LL"
L 8
L'
L'1
L"
L'
L"
L"
L'
L"
L1'
L'lL
M"
M"
M°
mi
M'
M'
M'
M°
M"
M'
M'
W
M°
M4
M"
M1
M"
M'
M1
M''
M'
M"
M'W
NN'
N'
ni'
N"
N°
N"
N°
N'
N»
N°
N"
N"
N'
N'
N"
N'1
N1
N1
N°
M*N'
^s
0'
00°
00'
0°
0'
0"
O*-
0°
0'
0'
oO1'
0"
0°
0'
0°
0°
0s
O1
0'
o'
a
P "
pd
P T
p.
P -
pk
ph
P c
P e
P'
P
p »
P
py
p p
P 8
P*
P'
P '
P '
P °
Pp'
rt
Q"
QQ'
Q"
Q'
QQ2
QQ»
Q"
Q"
Q°
Q'
Q1
Q"
QQ°
Q"
Q°
Q°
Q8
Q"
Q'!
R°
R1
R'1
R"
R°
R1
R'
R»
R"
R"
R'
R1
R"
R'
R1'
R"
R"
RR"
RR'
R*
R' it
S c
S 8
S"
S "
S b
S'
S "
S
S '
S "
S '
S y
S "
S B
S '
S''
S
S °1
S"
S °
S '
S °
S- §
T"
r'
T2
r1
T"°
r'
r'
T"
r'
r°
r"
r"
T"
rr"
T"
rv
^s
r'
r
r»
Tr'
|
U1
u°
U'
u°
U1
u'
u°
U*
u1'
u'
uu"
U'
u'
u"
U"
u"
U'
u6
u'
u'
Uu'
1
V
v
vr
v
V
v
v
V
v
v
v
v°
V"
v1
v»
V
v
v
v»
v
V
V
vk j
W
w
W'
w
W
w
w
w
w
w
w
w
W
w
w
W
w
w
w"
W
w
W
w 1
X"
x°
Xs
x'
x*
x"
X'1
x'
X1
xx"
X1X'
x"
x°
Xx°
xx°
x"
x°
X'
x1
Y«
Y"
Y.
Y"
yt
Y'
yy
Y'
Y'
Y0
Y"
Y'
Y1
Y"
Y°
Y°
Y'
Y"
Yym
Y°
Y'
ya
Z«
Z"
z'
Z"
z"
Z°
Z'1
24
7'
Z1'
Z1
Z'
Z'
Z'
Z°
Z*
ZZ°
Z'
Z'
Z'
Z°
sa






248
THE WAR DANCE
fbu see the alphabet which runs along the top? Glance down the ilumn until you come to the l. What does o over l give you?'
I.'
[Tien that's your first pair of letters encoded. Your next pair is p
r o. What does p over o give you?'
l,' he replied.
Phen that's your next code-group. No great hardship, is it? The
d pair is x over n . . . what does x over n give you?'
t:
jghteen seconds later his task was complete.
d One-time pad: opxca plzor bhtej &^ Message: longl iveti ltman
| Code-groups: qemxk xotkr jvyfg
he absence of any comment, such as 'Rise, Sir Leo', I explained he decoding process was just as simple. All he had to do was i.the code-groups under the one-time pad groups and the substisquare
would decode each pair in turn.
sending that he really was an agent, I pointed out that o over l had
ced q, and that in the decoding process o over q would produce l,
ie same principle applied to all the other pairs of letters.
fc accepted my word for it without bothering to check, which
|Bae uneasy.
fcis frown worried me even more. It was clear that something
Dzzling him.
Idering what I'd overlooked, I explained that agents would use
3»s their main code, have WOKs in reserve, and fall back on
[|tf they lost both. I then pointed out that the pads and substiSquares
would be different for each agent, and that they'd be INgh-grade security checks. I started to describe them. 4 on a minute.' |-to the desk.
s that the pads must be different, but why the substitution
Surely it wouldn't matter a damn how many of them were 'What use would they be without the pads? Or have I missed
E»?'
249
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'No, Commander -1 have. Of course they can be the same - you've
saved us an enormous amount of work.'
But he was still frowning.
What other idiocy had he spotted?
'Look here. Marks ...'
I prepared for the worst.
'. .. did I understand you to say that you didn't think of this code
until after Tiltman had left?'
'Yes! What's wrong with it?'
'Nothing at all ... As a matter of fact letter one-time pads have
been working very successfully for quite a long time."
I'd forgotten how to handle relief, and he was closer to being
hugged than he'd ever know. It was the equivalent to hearing that
Hitler had choked to death on a piece of gefilte fish.
'My God, sir [I'd decided to promote him], that's the best news
you could possibly have given me.'
And so it was - but why was he looking at me in such an extraordinary
way? Surely he didn't think I was disappointed because I couldn't
take the credit for LOPs? Surely to God it couldn't be that?*
'What's the problem. Commander?'
He hesitated for fully ten seconds.
I prepared for the worst. ;
'The problem is knowing the best way to put this to you ...'
Put what, for Christ's sake? ;
His smile was as unexpected as a self-peeling banana. 'It's quite . an achievement thinking up LOPs without any help.' I
I was as embarrassed as he was but returned to full alert when his ^ expression hardened. ;.
'I must also say this - and let me emphasize it's just my personal^ opinion because you've rather sprung this on me ... I don't believe l SOE needs letter one-time pads - WOKs are far better suited for^ agents' traffic.'
I asked him to explain why.
" Even in 1998, when so much has been written about SOE that only its secrets i
I am still credited with inventing the letter one-time pad. WOKs, yes - but with LO"^ was pre-empted, and I wish I knew by whom! Whoever you are, and wherever you ) be, my apologies and thanks. L.M.
250
issessment of the codes' relative merits was brusque, informa:d apparently impartial. In his view, WOKs had one great
age: They allowed 200 messages to be passed on only two
of silk, whereas for 200 to be passed in LOPs would require
: a dozen sheets of one-time pad.
or WOKs' security, provided that they were used once /ery message would have to be attacked separately, which
place as great a strain on the enemy's resources as it would
:chley's. For all practical purposes, we need look no further TOKs.
iaused for breath but I had none to offer him.
is true (he continued) that LOP-users could send as few as ten
but how many agents could take advantage of this? Surely
of them had to transmit lengthy reports? In which case,
I't their dozen sheets of pad be harder to camouflage and more
ous to carry than two sheets of silk? Warning me by eye-glint
nterrupt, he compared the coding demands which each system
iC-users had only to copy out one line of figures before starting
cess of double-transposition. But LOP-users had to copy out
fifty letters of their one-time pads, then write their messages i them, and start using their substitution square. Although the
was simpler than double-transposition, the effort involved was
great, and was likely to take longer.
nted out that it had taken him eighteen seconds to copy out
i-time pad groups and write his message beneath them, and
r fifty seconds to encipher long live tiltman. Assuming that were twice as slow, they could still encode or decode the
; message in under twenty minutes.
ghtening his cuffs, Dudley-Smith said he didn't realize that I'd Siting him for a job in SOE or he'd have put up a better lance. He then made what was clearly his closing state-
li IPpreciated that agents had to keep the messages as short as
| because of the efficiency of the Funk-Horchdienst (the Ger"
rception service). But it was equally important that they
' the used portions of their codes, and surely it would be
251
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
easier for them to cut away one line of a WOK than a dozen lines
of a one-time pad? Given the choice between WOKs and LOPs he
felt that most agents would opt for WOKs.
'Which system would Bletchley opt for if it were faced with breaking
it?'
'You know damn well that letter-pads are unbreakable on a depth
of one.' (Used once only.)
'Are they produced at Bletchley, Commander? And could you help
us to get some?'
In the silence that followed I knew that I must leave nothing unsaid.
I told him that I agreed with most of his reservations but the fact
remained that 90 per cent of SOE's messages could be far shorter
than the minimum of 100 letters required by WOKs, and that if
Bletchley couldn't help us we'd recruit a special team of girls and
produce the pads by hand.
'You realize how much work that would involve?'
'Yes, Commander.'
'And you'd be prepared to take it on?'
'Yes, Commander.'
He took a deep breath. The ozone was comparatively clear as my
cigar was unlit. 'They're produced at Oxford by Commander Hogg.
He supplies SOE's figure pads - Dansey knows the details.'
'Thank you, Commander.'
'You'll have to make an appointment with him through the head
of SOE - and Nick should have a word with him in advance.'
'Thank you, Commander.'
He glanced at his watch. 'God - I must go.'
To forewarn Hogg?
We both stood up. In his case it showed.
He thanked me for the sandwiches, and reminded me of Tiltinan s
invitation to visit Bletchley. He then held out his hand as if I were no longer a stowaway on a coding flagship. 'I agree with you that ^ the poem-code is shit, and I want to help you to replace it if I possibly jj
can! I hope you know that.'
'Thank you. Commander. I do.'
And meant it...
And to help me continue meaning it if he were forced to be obs
252
THE WAB DANCE
encoded a reminder to myself on a letter one-time pad: vivat
by-smith.
?ok me two minutes and twenty seconds.
253
THIRTY-ONE
Accidents Will Happen
Oxford had a variety of irresistible attractions. It was sixty-five
miles from Baker Street, every one of them a continent. It had yet
to be troubled by air raids (I was one of the few sandbags in sight),
and it had managed to retain so much of its awesome presence that
the GI visitors who swarmed across the cobblestones allowed
the spires to do the strutting. Above all, it was the home of the
Bodleian Library, which was not only the shire's soul, and one of the
main reasons for resisting invasion, but was allowed six months'
credit by 84.
Yet the feature of Oxford which transformed it into an English
Lourdes was unknown to all but a privileged few.
It produced letter one-time pads.
Commander Hogg's office was on the first floor of a large country
house which had been taken over for official purposes with no obvious
signs of desecration.
There were no obvious signs of a welcome either.
The commander rose from his desk, took my pass from me and
examined it as if it were written in code. He was middle-aged, greyhaired,
with none of Dudley-Smith's elegance but all of his authority.
The quality of his product was reflected in his face, which was impossible
to read on a depth of one.
Something about my pass seemed to be troubling him, and he put on his glasses for a second reading.
It was an uncomfortable start to a critical meeting for which 1
was inadequately briefed. I knew nothing about this inscrutable man |
254
t that he was a purveyor of one-time pads to the nation of
1 SOE believed itself a part.
2 first words he addressed to me weren't so much clipped as
;d together.
it Marks with an "x".?'
or God, one of those. 'Not according to my birth certificate or
eat-grandfather's! May I ask if it's Hogg with one "g"!?'
;re was a short pause during which the room was filled with
imulating throb of mutual antipathy. He then invited me to sit
., and brusquely informed me that he'd been asked by the head
D.E. to supply us with letter one-time pads, and to discuss the
s in the course of our meeting.
looked at me with a 'torpedoes away' expression. 'I'm still not
what you people do.'
ie Germans, sir. In every way we can.'
'as absolutely certain that Captain Bligh didn't need a briefing
Fletcher unChristian about SOE or any other wartime anomaly.
needed one about him. There must be some reason for his
ity other than good taste. ho recommended letter-pads to SOE?' imitted responsibility.
hat experience have you had with them?' »e, sir.'
said 'Good God' so softly that unless the Almighty were in the
with us, of which there was increasingly little sign, he couldn't
I much feed-back from the supreme crow's nest. m I assume you know how they work?' ad that I believed I did; and he pounced at once: 'Who explained Vo you?'
Iren't admit that until very recently I thought I'd invented them.
pty, sir. He used to be in charge of agents' codes.' ^expression said, 'It's a pity he still isn't.' jhyou usually recommend coding systems you know nothing
I'
jl*Commander. But I rarely hear of any as good as LOPs.'
JBranced at the word. And continued wincing while I explained
[fcter-pads were ideally suited for agents' traffic.
255
BETWEEN BILK AND CYANIDE
He waited until I'd finished the litany, then looked at me as if my bilges were leaking. (One of them was.) 'Tell me Marks, what other
codes have you recommended to SOE?'
I gave him a thorough WOK-ing, and he suddenly brightened.
'That idea sounds secure and practical. Who devised it?'
I admitted paternity, which seemed to surprise him.
'Commander, may I give you two examples of why letter-pads
would be better?'
Without waiting for permission, I told him about the Norwegians
who reported the movements of German battleships to London while
surrounded by the enemy, and about the agents who attacked submarines
with limpets, who also reported to London. The information
the Admiralty was waiting for could have been transmitted in less
than fifty letters, had the codes been safe enough.
Hogg couldn't quite hide a smile at these nautical disclosures and
assured me that he'd taken my point that agents must get off the air
in the shortest possible time. But he was afraid that letter-pads were
unlikely to be the answer.
'Why not. Commander?'
I was disconcerted by his softly spoken reply. 'I think you'd better
see one.'
He lifted the receiver, issued a quiet instruction, and asked if I'd
like some tea. Scarcely able to breathe, let alone swallow, I declined
with thanks.
A door which I hadn't noticed because it was right in front of me
opened almost immediately and his Muriel (if there were another
such) brought in the first letter one-time pad I'd seen. It was accompanied
by a large substitution square.
She put them in front of him, gave me the kind of encouragmg
smile Muriel bestowed on my long-suffering visitors, and left us alone.
The letter-pad was the most important person in the room. The
commander watched me while I paid my respects to it. 'It won't bite
you if you pick it up,' he said encouragingly.
But it did.
Home Station to Out was a Caxton first edition, and Outstation
to Home was the Gutenberg Bible.
'My God, Commander, they're beautifully produced.'
256
iat was as close to an understatement as I had ever come. The
rs were clear and would be easy to read at half their present size.
was already back in Baker Street giving my first LOP briefing,
rtnshed the commander would stop asking questions.
take it you wouldn't issue them to agents just as they are?'
fcook my head firmly.
ou'd photograph them down and have them reproduced on silk?'
a silk myself, I hardly bothered to nod.
hen tell me, Marks . . . where do you propose to get all the silk?
•tvho's going to undertake all that photography? - you must have
y sources than I have . . .'
gford's first bomb had just been exploded.
Iff shock-waves forced me to realize that I hadn't done my homefcHe'd
been expecting me to provide him with details of SOE's
lection facilities and not my opinion of the merits of his codes.
irfiat could I say to him?
tr Dodd's enthusiasm and Elder Wills's inventiveness hardly
tuted a production programme, and I'd made no attempt to
hen anyone else.
& an amateur entrepreneur, I'd proceeded on the precarious
BS that what an agent needs an agent must have, and that ways
(she found to provide it.
| commander knew that he'd landed on target, and that this
• moment to demolish it completely. 'Don't you realize how
ther organizations with greater priority than SOE also need
»ve you people never heard of parachutes? Has no one told
? there's an acute shortage of silk - and of printing facilities
fskilled photographers?'
abled something about being able to manage with sensitized
?se you're not aware that there's an acute shortage of paper
f goodwill to SOE., you supercilious bastard.
Bs to me you've done no homework whatever and wasted a
opie's time.'
thim in the eye and grudgingly recognized the tiny tic of exaess.
'Commander, I think there's something you should see.'
257
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I twiddled the knobs on my briefcase (I still didn't know how to
open it) and finally produced SOE's version of a letter one-time pad
But in my eagerness to show him what our technicians could produce
I allowed my briefcase to spill out the remainder of its Top Secret
contents. They consisted of six bananas, a selection of Mother's sandwiches
and a contraceptive in a plastic container.
Although a bunch of bananas was one of England's rarest sights
the commander's expression as he gazed at the contraceptive was
rarer still, and I hastily explained that it had arrived on my desk
earlier that morning with a note from the head of special devices
suggesting that 'a contraceptive made of local rubber would be excellent
camouflage for a microfilmed code'.
The now rigid commander murmured 'Dear God', and once again
received no noticeable response. He then gave his considered opinion
of Elder Wills's special device. It was an example of inventiveness for
the sake of it, had no practical application to clandestine communications
as he understood them, and was a waste of manpower and
material - amateurishness at its worst.
Quite wrong. Out of all this amateurishness came Elder Wills's
magic.
The commander's hand strayed towards the buzzer.
I pushed the home-made pad towards him.
He glanced at it perfunctorily, realized what it was and started
examining it with growing interest.
I slid the contraceptive back into my briefcase as I had no immediate
use for it.
The commander looked at me sharply. 'Where did you get this pad?'
I owned up to my fantasy that I'd invented the system and told him that this mocked-up pad was the product of our service departments.
'How long did it take them?'
I admitted that it had taken a fortnight, including Sundays.
'But it's only three pages long. Still, it's a good effort considering
it's not machine-made - but I doubt if these letters are truly random, j
They were as random as three bored FANY counter-shufflers could j make them. |
'Now then. Marks-' His next volley of questions, his deadliest j
yet, concerned the statistics I should have prepared.
258
w many letter pads would be needed over the next few
his .. . ? What were their dimensions . . . ? How much silk would [uired .. . ? How much paper .. . ? Had I told the service depart,
the size of the commitment they would be faced with . . . ? Did
w it myself. . . ? Had I worked out my time-scale .. . ? Had I
allowances for the service departments' mistakes - they didn't 's get things right the first time . . . I And had I. . . ? And had
> ... And had I...?...
; answer to everything was that I hadn't.
said that he often reminded his own young people that enthusi- was no substitute for homework - and this was particularly true
case if I wanted letter pads for agents.
glanced at his watch, and I stood up at once. 'Thanks for your s. Commander, I promise it won't be wasted. And I apologize uning to you prematurely. Do I need that pass to get out?'
was examining our letter pad again and didn't seem to hear [e looked up and saw me standing there with my hand out. 'Sit
and listen to me.'
as back in place before he could blink.
simply can't afford to waste a single letter pad. Nor can we
I to change their format to suit SOE. But I'll tell you what I am'
red to do ... Tomorrow I'm sending figure pads to Dansey and elude some letter pads with 'em - use them sensibly. Show them to those people who might be able to reproduce them - never
to their imagination; they must see what you're talking about take
sure they're security-vetted. Contact me at once if you have access - and I'll see what I can do. Will that be a help to you?' Me than that. Commander.'
ry well then, we'll leave it at that.' He stood up, and returned bbs to me. 'I doubt if you've got a hope in hell's chance of getting
tot silk - but good luck to you.'
(Shook my hand, signed my pass, and a few lifetimes later Marks t *k' and his briefcase with a condom landed in Baker Street to
tcrusade.
259
THIRTY-TWO
Pilgrim's Progress
The difficulties of supplying silk codes to all our Signals dependencies
were greater than even Hogg had foreseen.
The poem-code had become a worldwide malignancy, and to send
WOKs and LOPs to Cairo, India and Burma - whose agents needed
them just as badly as their European counterparts - enough silk would
be needed for at least 40 million code-groups.
It was my job to find it, and not for the first time since joining
SOE I wished that there were some substance in the most enduring
of all myths: that the chosen people have direct access to everything
in short supply with the possible exception of tolerance. As it was I
had no ideas, no contacts, and no option but to join the long queue
of mendicants waiting for SOE's Supply directorate to live up to its
job description.
I was luckier than most because my rejection was immediate. None
of the Supply departments (there were four main ones) could undertake
a commitment of this size, even if its priority was as high as I
maintained. Nor did they know of anyone who could.
Once again I turned to Joan Dodd, whose official position as head of the stationery department was the biggest misnomer in Baker Street. But this time she called in the head of her directorate. Major Ince, to help me get my thinking right. As they saw it, the solution to mass-producing silk codes, each of which had to be different, layr,^ in a combination of printing and photography, and much would |j
depend on the inventiveness of the technicians involved. *1
They then produced a list of six printing firms and as many P"o- j
tographers, but warned me that they were already 'working thetf balls off. Ince, an expert photographer himself, offered to help o'
260
PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
united extent but couldn't possibly accept the entire commit-
Nor must I count on Elder Wills, who turned down nothing
nterested him but couldn't always deliver.
these were minor problems compared to the shortage of silk.
lew of only two people in Baker Street with sufficient clout to
i it in large quantities, and my forebodings escalated like SOE's
: when he disclosed their names: George Courtauld and Tommy
s, otherwise known as the 'hard men'.
warned me that if I were to have the slightest chance of success
hem, there was one obstacle I must first overcome. It would be
s to approach them for even a yard of silk unless I could satisfy
that the printing and photographic problems had already been
I. But the printers and photographers wouldn't even consider
immitment unless they were assured that the silk was available.
described it as a 'chicken and egg situation', and it was clear
was the one about to get laid.
campaign managers agreed to arrange all my appointments ?ut in a word or two' before I arrived, but warned me that I
I't blow SOE's cover by referring to agents. They also warned
iat most commercial firms didn't consider the Inter Services
rch Bureau (one of SOE's cover-names) to be much of a calling
'so don't be disappointed if they turn you down flat'.
'y picked up their telephones and began mass-producing my
Btments before I'd even reached the door.
Ore taking off to meet my first printers I authorized a Belgian
in training to use the Twenty-third Psalm as his poem-code -
S convinced it would bring him good luck. *
to picked up my rod and my staff (a WOK and a LOP) to
ttt- me, and trusting that the Lord would be my shepherd and
te agents I must not mention would not want, set out on my
lage.
1^
H in the first five firms I visited actually said, 'Don't you know
I war on?' - a non-combatant's favourite question - but they
arly indignant that anyone should consider that they weren't
: his leg in a practice jump and never left for the field.
261
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
fully employed. None of them could undertake any further printing for
at least three months, and the most I could extract from them was an
invitation to try again later. I thanked them on behalf of Caxton and
Gutenberg, whom they seemed to think were directors of ISRB.
The last firm on my list was in the heart of the City of London,
assuming that it had one.
I was warmly received by two elderly brothers (the joint proprietors)
who thought that ISRB was a liaison department with the
War Office. They examined a WOK with great interest and asked
several technical questions which Ince had primed me to answer. But
when I told them of the quantities we'd require they turned me down
flat as they'd just taken on 'a major job for another branch of the
war effort'.
Seeing my disappointment, and apparently disturbed by it, they
suggested I should try two other printers - 'rivals of ours but excellent
just the same.' - and took the trouble to give me their addresses and
phone numbers. They then insisted that I had some tea.
There was something about this gentle and courteous couple which
was strangely evocative, but I couldn't pinpoint it until I went through
the familiar motions of replacing the WOK in my briefcase.
They'd printed several of Marks & Co.'s catalogues.
I said that my father sent his best wishes to them, told them who
he was, and the premises were suddenly floodlit.
They took it in turns to ask to be remembered to him, and to Mr
Cohen, and to Mr Doel, and to Mr Plummer - 'such nice people to
deal with and such a beautiful shop.'
After a brief conference, which they conducted in undertones, they
asked if they could borrow the samples to show to their foreman.
'You needn't tell us what it's for, it's better we don't know,' said
the saint with slightly more hair.
'Much better,' agreed his brother. 'You can meet our foreman if
you like; he's only next door.'
I was certain that they'd prefer to talk to him alone, and handed
over the WOK, which was a difficult operation as my fingers were
crossed.
Alone in their office, I wished I'd told them that the printer's ink
in their veins could be turned into life's blood for SOE's agents. I
262
recited the Twenty-third Psalm, and a few other biblical quotations
agents had selected, until the brothers strode back.
One look at their smiling faces and I knew we'd found a home.
They gleefully informed me that six more printers would be joining
them in two weeks' time, and they'd be able to do all our printing if
we still wanted them to.
I didn't know which to thank first - the brothers, the Bible or 84.
But there was a snag. They'd have enough silk to start the job, but
when their reserves ran out, they'd have to ask ISRB to help them.
i I assured them that there'd be no problem, that Ince would immedilately
confirm the commitment, and their work would be put to good
luse.
But they were far more concerned with the damage Hitler might
to 'those beautiful books in 84.'
; next stage in the code safari was finding photographers to repro:e
LOPs, but the six firms I visited proved to have one thing in omon: an anxiety to get rid of me as quickly as possible. Their ;)onses were wholly negative, and between the lot of them they
ildn't have produced a passport photograph till the end of '43.
I asked Ince to suggest another source.
Ie avoided looking at me, a luxury which he hadn't yet allowed iself, and for the first time seemed to be holding something back. Sided by Joan Dodd, he finally admitted that he had a 'special jionship' with an RAF photographic unit which had helped him from time to time, and which he knew had some silk in reserve. if they were asked to take on a commitment of this size it would
i to go through official channels, and he wanted his name to be feright out of it.
Ifeomised to think up a cover-story which wouldn't involve him V give me the details.
(pok all Joan Dodd's skill to persuade him to part with them,
|woiulered what she'd have to do in return.
Mographic unit was only a few spools away from the Houses ^ment, but had a view of St James's Park as compensation.
squadron leader rose from his cockpit in a small office,
263
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
taxied towards me with outstretched hand, and said that Air Commodore Boyle's secretary 'made it sound very urgent.'
It hadn't been easy persuading Muriel to make the call.
He waited until I was seated, then asked in a confidential whisper
if I knew anyone in ISRB called Ince.
After due consideration I replied that I had met a major of that
name but wasn't quite sure what department he was in, which
appeared to satisfy him.
His desk was bare except for a notebook and a telephone, and
there was no indication that any work was done in this office - a
sure sign that a great deal was.
I realized that it was time I added to it.
Dumping six LOPs on to his desk, I asked if he could photograph
the whole lot on to silk within the next three days. Before he could
react, I informed him that we were hoping he'd photograph far larger
quantities for us on a regular basis if this first batch turned out
satisfactorily.
For a moment I thought he was going to air-lift me out of the
window, and St James's wasn't my favourite park. It was too full of
itself to need people.
There was a precarious pause.
Is it wishful thinking on my part or is he trying to conceal a hint of amusement?
'Let's have a look-see,' he finally said.
He examined the LOPs through the private lens every skilled photographer
carries in his head. He then casually asked what size we'd require them to be (a hopeful sign?) and I gave him the dimensions
Ince had worked out for me.
He then stared out of the window, but his look-see was now directed within, and I knew that his decision was still in the balance.
I was certain that he realized it was codes he'd been examining, and decided to go as far as I could. 'They have to be used in rather trying
circumstances. Squadron Leader.'
He turned round, and though I didn't mean to insult him I thought
I detected a kindred spirit. 'I imagined they served a special purpose. ^ And I don't suppose there are many photographers who can take th» |
job on?'
264
e aren't any.'
>oked at me as if I were an aircraft trying to limp home, then
at the notepad on his desk. 'We can cope with this first batch,
in three days. We'd need a week from tomorrow to do the
perly.'
imping aircraft tried to stutter its thanks. t, about the rest,' he said, cutting me short. 'What quantities?'
hundred a month.'
:'s a hell of a lot.' He made some rapid calculations on his 1 and frowned at the result, unaware that he'd been using a
> his pencil. r, Mr Marks . . .'
In't feel right being called 'Mr' by an officer in the RAF.
letter tell you a bit about our set-up . . .'
t' was a considerable overstatement, and he disclosed as little
lis unit as I had about ISRB. But he did admit that he was
I a fairly free hand in running it.
fever, Mr Marks .. . there are limits to what I can do on my
ithority.' He couldn't even consider photographing 200 a
unless he had a formal request from someone high in ISRB -
nmodore Boyle perhaps?
lid it be a help if the request came from someone higher?'
higher the better.'
lained that the person I had in mind was named Heffer, and
responsible for certain policy matters I wouldn't want to Urn with.
odded gravely, and said that 'J/, repeat if he was allowed to
l 200 a month he hoped that Mr Heffer would provide the
rail. Squadron Leader.'
e. Lord - start softening up the 'hard men'. ftftened up the squadron leader instead. 'Look here,' he Ksd, 'let's stop iffing-about. You said this stuff might have to
|tn "rather trying circumstances!" - message received! So get ^letter to protect my back and one way or another we'll ""ph 200 a month starting three weeks from now - good
265
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'Thank you, Squadron Leader. Good enough.'
We shook hands on the deal.
He then signed my pass, though I was no longer the same person.
I was a civilian when I entered his office.
I was a code-group captain when I left it.
I was demoted to corporal when I gave Heffer a verbatim account
of the historic conversation.
He upbraided me for taking his name in vain, but agreed to sign
the request on condition that I obtained a few yards of silk for his
wife. He then asked who was going to supply it.
'I'm going to talk to the hard men.'
He looked at me as if we mightn't meet again. 'God help you,' he
finally said, 'if you try iffing them about.'
And God help the agents if I didn't.
266
THIRTY-THREE
The 'Hard Men'
s special strength, and one of the few edges it had over C,
from the bankers and industrialists Sir Charles Hambro had aduced into Baker Street. They were the sanitized section of the
tricks brigade, and most of them drew on their experiences
ity moguls to implement Churchill's concept of 'ungentlemanly are'.
me of them did so with greater relish than two tycoons-turneders
named George Courtauld and Tommy Davies, otherwise
m as the 'hard men'. Courtauld was a major, Davies a colonel,
h in no way reflected their real status.
aurtauld was a director of the giant textile concern his family
founded, and a shipping magnate in his spare time. He'd introd
many of his former colleagues (including Tommy Davies) into
, and was one of Baker Street's senior head-hunters. Davies,
ediy the softer of the 'hard men' (which meant he was made of
te), was a member of the Executive Council, head of the
irch. Development and Supply directorates, and monitored the auflage Station in his spare time.
:h protocol as existed in SOE required Nick to arrange my
intment with them and preferably accompany me to it. But after
searching questions he decided that I should 'go it alone' as he
rtain I'd been up to something he preferred not to know about ill-founded suspicion which didn't prevent him from assuring
iuld and Davies that I had his full backing.
is summoned to Courtauld's office at ten minutes' notice, but
i a combination of April showers and perspiration I arrived at
yal enclosure looking like a puddle of dubious content.
267
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Courtauld was a gaunt, pale and exceedingly fragile-looking 'hard
man' who seemed to have barely enough energy to muster a nod. But
his eyes sparked more warnings than a smoker's cough.
Tommy Davies, who sat a few feet away from him, was a large
florid Welshman - but not a Dylan Thomas/Emlyn Williams pit-boy
Welshman. I sensed that the only pits on this boyo's mind were the
ones he'd dug for his opponents.
The 'hard men' made a concerted effort to put me at their ease.
'Colonel Nicholls says you have an interesting problem for us,'
said Courtauld in a resonant voice.
'Take your time,' said Davies, glancing at his watch.
They listened with the incomparable receptivity of trained minds
hearing something new while I explained the importance of WOKs
and LOPs, keeping the technical details to a minimum. There wasn't
a problem in sight until I tried to skirt over the arrangements I'd
made with the squadron leader and the brothers.
'Hold on a minute,' said Courtauld. 'You say they've agreed to use
their own silk?'
'Yes, sir - but only until their stocks run out.'
'Which will be-?'
'In about three weeks' time, sir.'
He considered this carefully. 'Then what happens?'
'That's what I'm here to discuss, sir.'
'What exactly did you say to them?' asked Davies suspiciously.
'That ISRB would supply the rest of the silk, sir.'
'Did you, by God?' said Courtauld.
'Who gave you the authority to say anything of the sort?!' thundered
Davies.
'No one, sir.'
'Does Colonel Nicholls know what you've promised these people
on SOE's behalf?'
'ISRB's behalf, sir; SOE wasn't mentioned.'
'Does he know?'
'No, sir.'
'You acted entirely off your own bat?'
It was hard to imagine Davies on a cricket pitch unless he was the roller.
268
entirely, sir.' (With a little help from low-levels like Joan Dodd,
; and Heffer.)
'reposterous,' said Courtauld. There's no other word for it.' 'avies nodded so hard he almost lost a jowl. he only sounds were Courtauld's breathing and April cleaning
windows.
ince you're here,' Courtauld said wearily, 'you'd better explain ' these lollipops or whatever they're called have to be on silk.'
I'd had a lollipop I knew precisely where I'd stick it. In lieu of
l a luxury, I leaned forward and, before Courtauld could stop Sor I could stop myself, ran my hands rapidly over his tunic,
girth his armpits, and as far down his abdomen as propriety per- ^d. In case he took this personally, I hastily explained that the
ftipo and the Vichy policy cordoned off entire streets without
ng and searched everyone in sight. If he were a Frenchman Sag a code, wouldn't he prefer it to be on silk which groping
.couldn't feel rather than on sheets of paper hidden inside a
|»le object which they might have time to examine?
i mouth was so wide open that I feared he'd have a stroke. There
E extraordinary sound from somewhere on my right.
> Tommy Davies laughing. 'Point taken,' he said before I could
m the same facility. 'It's clear that silk has its advantages.'
med hastily to my still-damp chair and awaited reprisals.
tauld cleared his tunic of all traces of trespass. 'How long
i»u been in SOE?' he asked quietly.
ie June forty-two, sir.'
®ng as that? And before then?' ^-breaking school.'
JSpecks of red appeared on his cheeks. 'You came here straight
' ool?'
ir.' I didn't add that I was straight when I arrived but was t as a corkscrew.
finally broke the silence. 'I presume, Marks, that you've iOrne figures with you?'
!ftS the moment I'd been dreading. I'd prepared some estifctfaem but Hitler's fortune-teller could have done a better
269
BETWEE N SILK AND CYANIDE
'Well? Have you brought them or haven't you?' demanded
Courtauld.
'Yes, sir.'
I lifted the estimates from their rain-sodden envelope. They'd been
typed by Muriel as if they were a royal proclamation but each page
was covered in manuscript corrections and the ink had run. Wishing
I could join it, I gave the drier copy to the Gestapo (Courtauld), and
surrendered the other to the Vichy police.
Watching them cordon off the rest of the world while they searched
the pages for concealed common sense was a lesson in concentration
I wished I could have shared with all coders.
They reached the last page without complaining about the inkblots
(there were enough for a Rorschach test), then exchanged glances
like Gauleiters at the door of a torture chamber.
The Cairo/India/Burma estimates were the first to be stomped on.
Glaring at them with jackboot eyes, Courtauld said they were based
on the extraordinary assumption that paramilitary operations in the
Middle and Far East faced the same obstacles as our clandestine
operations in Europe, which was nonsense.
He then gleefully pointed out that Special Forces in jungles and
deserts didn't have to fear random street searches like their European
counterparts or executives in Baker Street, and that the only
use they'd have for silk codes would be to swat tsetse flies with
them.
Exchanging smiles with Davies, he announced that the estimates
for these theatres must be cut by 90 per cent, and drew two heavy
lines through them.
Until he did this, SOE had been the only jungle I'd known. But
the finality of those heavy lines gave faces to the figures, and for the
sake of the paramilitaries, who were no longer remote, I had to
challenge his judgement before it was too late: 'There's something
you've overlooked, sir.'
He glared at me like the captain of one of his liners whose concentration
had been interrupted by the hooting of a tug while I reminded
him that paramilitary traffic was just as liable to be intercepted as clandestine, that the codes it was being passed in were highly insecure, ;
and that if paramilitaries didn't need WOKs and LOPs on silk then^
270
y must have them on waterproof paper which could be destroyed
er each message to protect the back traffic.
We're here to discuss silk,' snapped Davies, 'not waterproof
per.'
But you'll be able to get that as well, won't you, sir?'
SAs well as what?' thundered Courtauld. 'We're still trying to make
ise of these figures.'
Fhey ploughed through the European estimates with growing
g>air. Courtauld then gave me a brief lecture on how they should
?e been prepared which was probably priceless and which I pre-
jded to understand.
{hen Davies took over. 'What the devil's this?' he enquired.' "Con-
feencies, various", with none of them stipulated.'
ferhaps they're too confidential to share with us?' suggested
a-tauld.
pother mistake. In attempting to keep the document to consble
length, I hadn't considered what would be important to
St. I rattled off a few of the 'contingencies, various' - How many
|ts would lose their codes? . . . How many replacements would
|?tray? . . . How many WOKs and LOPs would Secret Armies
pvies interrupted sharply. 'Have the country sections agreed to
fee bloody things?' he asked.
^ey will, sir. Colonel Nicholls is going to talk to them himself.'
&d you'll have a word or so to say, I don't doubt,' commented
tauld.
6dy to fill in the details, sir.' I began explaining why the 'bloody
I' would make so much difference to our agents.
"'re not questioning their merits,' said Davies, 'but the reality
fmg silk. There's a queue a mile long for it.'
tt have an excellent case,' said Courtauld quietly, 'but so have
lothers.'
(many people with excellent cases have sat in this chair asking
? use their influence to produce the unobtainable?
6s glanced impatiently at his watch. Courtauld gave a barely
|»ble nod. 'Well now,' said Davies, 'if you'd like to leave these
Iwith us ...'
271
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
I tried to spot the waste-paper basket, but I was the only one in
sight.
'Unless you feel there's something you should add,' said Courtauld.
'Yes, sir. There is.' I wondered how to convince them that silk
codes were more than just another 'excellent case'.
The 'hard men' - whom I finally recognized as responsible men
seeking hard facts - waited expectantly. What would jolt them into
jumping the queue for the sake of the agents queuing to jump?
I decided to stake the future of our codes on a loaded question.
'Will SOE be allowed to know the date of D-Day?'
They looked at me in astonishment. 'Why the devil do you ask
that?'
'Because at some stage in the invasion the agents will have to be
sent instructions from London.'
'What of it?' demanded Courtauld.
'It would be safer for SOE to use Courtauld's code than the present
system.'
Courtauld sat motionless. Davies rose from his chair. 'Wfcat do you know about Courtauld's code?' he thundered.
'That it's a variant of the commercial code, and you use it to minimize the high cost of international cables.'
'Who told you about it?' he persisted.
I'd seen a copy in Dad's shop. 'Do I have to answer that, sir?'
'No,' said Courtauld heavily. 'We've more important matters to dispose of.' His other half continued to glare at me.
I waited to be disposed of. ,
'We'll help you all we can,' said Courtauld, 'though the final |
decision won't rest with us.'
'Far from it,' said Davies.
'It will be made by a certain person who has very little time to spare.'
'Very little indeed,' confirmed Davies.
'It would be a great help to him - and to us - if you could
down on half a sheet of paper the difference silk codes would to
our agents.'
'Half a sheet at most!' echoed Davies,
'I think it could be done in a phrase, sir!' But what?
272
i?' said Courtauld. 'We'd be interested to hear it.'
, between silk and cyanide.'
;re was a pause.
it now?' said Courtauld softly.
ides stared at me in silence for the best part of a fortnight. 'How
•e you?' he finally asked.
be twenty-three in five months, six days and a quarter of an
sir.' It was a chance to test his arithmetic.
iat did you do in peacetime?'
idn't have enough of it to find out, sir.'
irtauld smiled as if he understood his colleague's drift, and then
ssed me in his brusquest tones yet. 'That's all for now,' he said.
U hear from us shortly through Colonel Nicholls.'
ank you, sir. And thank you for seeing me .. .' I turned to the
irks ...' It was Tommy Davies, determined (like any true Welshto
have the last word. 'Shortly doesn't mean five minutes from
Or even five hours! Nor does it mean September the 24th [he'd
;d out my birthday.] You'll have to wait for at least a week. So
: about us and push on with your work . . .'
i exactly a week before Nicholls sent for me. Heffer, at his most
liable, was standing beside him.
:k shook hands in silence, then showed me a memo from the
men'.
l minutes later I telephoned Commander Hogg and told him
»OE was assured of sufficient silk to reproduce 200 LOPs a
1», and a further fifty on waterproof paper. I added (though it
tstrictly his business) that we were also in a position to produce
yOKs a month.
Stg pauses from quick thinkers should be prohibited by law.
["require confirmation of this from General Gubbins,' he finally
teced.
|on its way to you by dispatch rider.'
> you can expect your first pads within forty-eight hours.'
f have been mistaken but just before he replaced the receiver
' I heard him chuckle.
273
THIRTY-FOUR
Judicial Review
Distrustful though most of us were of anything in Baker Street which
looked like progress, some events had taken place while I'd been
importuning printers and photographers which even the most cynical
of us recognized as landmarks. I'd been privy to most of them, made
a contribution to some of them, and properly absorbed not a single
one.
It was essential to look back at them without being distracted by
the rigours of code-birth.
On 1 March the Dutch directorate was drastically reorganized.
Bingham became head of N section, and his predecessor Blizzard
(described by Heffer as 'the lesser of two weevils') was transferred
to the Italian section. Killick continued to be communications officer,
and on 8 March wrote a long letter to the Signals directorate which i;
had the distinction of requiring an answer, j
Ozanne (still in charge of Signals, though seldom of himself) passed |
the screed to Nick, and it was waiting on my desk when I dropped |
back from the City.
At a reluctant first reading it seemed a pristine example of a news
regime testing its strength on a directorate renowned for not having;
any. But even to City-glazed eyes it soon became apparent that therei
was much more to it than that:
FROM NT [KILLICK] TO MS [OZANNE]
8TH MARCH 1943
A Dutch wireless operator [Netball] will be going to the field to
reception committee in about a week's time. On the WT for111
274
I submitted in respect of this agent I requested that sufficient
plans and code poems should be given to him to cover his
for six months. The choice of the period of six months is,
irse, purely arbitrary. I was informed by DYC/M [me] this
ng that OC Station 52 [Major Byrne] objected to providing
ian with spare poems on the grounds of security. I would
ike to confirm my conversation with MS/A [Nick] on this
t in which I pointed out:
iat the agent in question is going to a reception committee,
id can, if necessary, leave any written matter which he does
>t care to carry about with him with this committee. kat if spare plans and poems are not taken by the agent
mself they will have to be sent with a container operation to
e same reception committee and passed to him by hand
rough various intermediaries. This is an undertaking which
e naturally wish to avoid.
ured to suggest to MS/A that the question of whether an
should take spare plans and poems with him, or whether
should be sent to him afterwards, was a matter for the
iy section to decide after consideration of the circumstances
agent's work in the field and the requirements of MS section.
iderstand that MS/A agrees that in this case at least the 6pns should go on as requested in our W/T form, and would
i(fully ask you to take the necessary action. ^;
had added a footnote, 'Contact me immediately', with the
d underlined.
rid an unusually open debate considering that the subject was
|tHe was reluctant to leave the distribution of codes to the
JK of any country section, least of all the Dutch. And we ^t Byrne's objections to giving Netball a supply of spare
re valid. Yet we both saw hidden advantages in allowing we them. To Nick, it was a chance to reassure the Dutch
listed their judgement and were merely observing routine ""autions. To me it was a chance to send a message to
275
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Giskes - the kind that could only be delivered by a captured aeent
Killick's letter clearly stated that Netball could leave any written
matter which he didn't care to carry about with him with his reception
committee. But the reception committee in which Killick had such
confidence was being organized by Cucumber, who was high on my list of suspect agents. Moreover, Cucumber had close links with Boni
the one agent about whose capture I was absolutely certain, with
Ebenezer a close second.
If my convictions about Holland were right (and they were so
intense that I sometimes doubted them), Netball's chances of survival
were virtually non-existent, and he was likely to be picked up on
landing. In which event he'd have no chance to dispose of his codes,
and if his journey to Holland achieved nothing else, he might unwittingly
help us to mislead Giskes.
If the Master discovered that Netball had been given a six months'
supply of poems he might reasonably conclude that we weren't about
to change his favourite coding system, and were likely to remain
wedded to poem-codes till the death of our agents did us part. Either
misconception would help the surprise element of WOKs and LOPs,
and might even prolong the lives of his prisoners.
Nick didn't comment on any of this. Nor did his eyebrows dissent
from it.
Netball was issued with twenty-five spare poems photographed on
soluble paper and carefully camouflaged. Three of the poems had
been written by Killick after I'd explained to him that original] compositions offered far better security. Such was the convoluted^ thinking which had become second nature to us when dealing withj N section.
On 15 March I gave Netball his final code-briefing. It lasted the whole morning, and the stem of my pipe snapped in two (I smoked
cigars in front of no agent but Tommy) when he thanked me for aB
the trouble I'd taken. I blamed the mishap on the manufacturer and nearly snapped in two myself when he promised to bring me
meerschaum from Holland when his mission was over.
I gave printers and photographers a hard time for the rest of week.
» » »
276
ugh few of us believed in miracles unless we were responsible .em, two occurred on 20 March:
Heffer was still at his desk at six o'clock.
The Chiefs of Staff issued an official directive to SOE.
itter was a forceps delivery after two years of acute labour pains,
he Guru proceeded to summarize its wondrous implications.
; parameters between C and SOE were now clearly defined.
become the first organization in the history of British warfare
i licence to commit sabotage, with the possible exception of the
es of Parliament.
were henceforth responsible for conducting all forms of clan- .e warfare, for building up Secret Armies in occupied territories, ar securing maximum co-operation from governments-in-exile.
s quota of aircraft, arms and essential supplies would be substanincreased,
which would lead to a sharp rise in dropping operi,
and every department in SOE would at last have a chance to
its potential.
ave all, the directive was explicit enough to be C-proof. God bless the Chiefs of Staff,' said Heffer, 'even if no one else
ade a note to remind Father to give Alanbrooke a discount on
rd books.
i suddenly heard myself shouting three questions at Heffer, who
d in a hurry to leave: Was SOE at last in a position to discuss fftch situation openly with the Chiefs of Staff? ... Could the I traffic be shown to Tiltman of Bletchley instead of to some
9nous investigators called in by Gubbins? . . . Was it too late to prevent Netball and two other agents (Lacrosse and Gherkin) !geing dropped?
S-expression warned me that for all the good the directive was ^*o do Holland, it might as well have been drafted by Giskes.
|dy explained that the Chiefs were counting on the Dutch Secret
||o implement 'Plan Holland' (the D-Day uprising), that its p was one of their main reasons for granting the directive, and
277
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
that far from Dutch operations being cancelled he'd understood from
Nick that they were going to be increased.
He then urged me to concentrate on producing WOKs and LOPs
and escaped while he could.
On 23 March I gave Lacrosse and Gherkin their final code-briefing.
They were to be dropped into Holland the same night as Netball.
And to the same reception committee.
That was the end of the March retrospective.
Devoid of prescience except when it wasn't needed, I had no inkling
of the catastrophes to follow.
278
THIRTY-FIVE
The Masterstroke
|me Station wireless operators were closer to agents in the field yet
Ither removed from them than anyone else in Signals.
bey transmitted and received all their messages yet never read
: contents.
^ey knew agents by their touch but never saw their faces.
ey worried if they were late for their skeds but were never told
iasons.
iras a new experience for them to have an agent being captured
?he was still transmitting . ..
Ipril Boni came on the air at his prearranged sked, signalled
('I have two messages'), and began transmitting them with
wnary skill. But a few seconds later he stopped operating
f and sent a series of unintelligible letters. He then broke off
Cr, 'and his transmission ended with a sharp emission as if
ator's hand was resting on the keyboard'.
lescription was sent to London by Ken Howell, our most
iced signalmaster. It was rare for Ken to express himself
ftkwt he ended his report with a definitive statement: 'I have
t/whatever that this agent has been caught at his set after
; first five groups of his 67th message.'
I to a recording of these five groups, and said 'fuck' 100
a- my breath, each one a tribute to Giskes's crafts-
l been caught long before 2 April.
Via. SOE was going to believe it?
* » a.
279
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
While high-level conferences were taking place between Gubbin
Nick and Bingham, and between Gubbins, Nick and the Executh
Council, I tried to grasp the implications of Giskes's masterstrok
the most baffling indecipherable I'd yet encountered.
Why had he suddenly decided to dispense with the services of Boi
- a one-man Signals directorate who handled the traffic of Parsnii
Potato, Cucumber, Trumpet and Tomato (amongst others)? And we
had he done it in such a way that SOE couldn't fail to realize th;
Boni was blown? What new trap was the cunning bastard setting fc
us?
'The hand resting on the keyboard' might mean that Boni himse
was finally at rest.
But there'd be none for me until I understood Giskes's motivatici
and could convince SOE of it.
Nick sent for me as soon as his conferences were over. Clearly n<
wanting another, he gave me as brief a situation report as he thougl
he could get away with.
All Boni-related operations had been cancelled in case he'd bee
taken alive, and the three new agents (Netball, Lacrosse and Gherkir
wouldn't be dropped before 16 April. As a further precaution, a
Boni's contacts were going under cover, and London wouldn't kn<M
the details of his capture until they resumed transmitting.
Pre-empting my bombardment, he added that Gubbins had nevt
been convinced by Plan Giskes (the indecipherable to Boni) that he?
been caught months ago, and accepted Ken Howell's report as cam
elusive. 1
He made the mistake of pausing for breath, and I shot my 6rs
question: 'If other agents confirm that Boni's been caught, will thi
be regarded as proof that they aren't blown themselves?' 1'
He snapped that decisions of this kind must be left to those qualifies
to make them, and that our job was to report irregularities an
breaches of security, and not pass judgement on the contents;*)
agents' messages.
I pointed out that I'd been forbidden to discuss the biggest irr<
larity of all with anyone but himself and Gubbins, and reminded!
that since June '42 not a single Dutch agent had made a nustak&j
his coding, and whether or not he and Gubbins chose to believe j
280
Few indecipherables they'd sent us were due to Morse-mutilated ator-groups, and I was beginning to think that the whole damn
if them must have been caught on landing.
or fatigue made equals of us for the next ten seconds, and he only admitted that he was as concerned about the Dutch traffic
was, but there was no point in rehashing reports which had
tdy been considered. However, if anything new aroused my susHis,
I was to bring it to him at once, and he'd take it to the sal. He reminded me to keep my anxieties about Holland to ?tf, and eyebrowed me from the office before I could unload the k million of them.
|"<April Ebenezer broke cover to transmit a long message from
|o, and a short one of his own.
Itftto regretted to inform London that at the beginning of April
fthad been caught in a surprise raid on his flat in The Hague,
at Cabbage believed he'd been betrayed by a traitor in the f group. Potato shared this suspicion, and contact had been
i off with all members of the Victory group. Potato assured tt that Parsnip and Cabbage were both safe but had suspended
vities for the time being.
lezer reported that during the recent bombing raid on Amsterttee
members of the Catarrh group had been killed, and he
I London that the damage caused by such raids was out of all tion to the harm which they did to the civilian population. (A 'piskes?)
1-way traffic was then resumed.
fc April N section informed Ebenezer that they'd lost contact
oni since he'd faded out completely during his 2 April sked,
|ed him to authenticate Potato's account of his capture. plied almost by return that Boni had been picked up on 2
f three police agents, who seemed to know when and where
to, and that everything had happened very quickly. He added Btrding to Parsnip, Vinus had also disappeared and was feared teerman custody.
jtion's confidence in Ebenezer, Parsnip, Potato and Co. was
" than ever, but even they had become anxious about Kale.
281
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
This key figure had taken over command of the Secret Army last
November but had consistently found excuses not to return to London to give a first-hand account of his progress.
I began to sense the dimension of Giskes's problems, and made a
list of questions which only he could answer.
Had he decided to sacrifice Boni not only to cast doubts about the
Victory group's loyalties, but also because he was running out of
excuses to explain Kale's failure to return? And surely he must have
had similar difficulties explaining why Professor Jambroes (Marrow)
had also failed to return despite N section's repeated requests?
(After months of inspired prevarication Jambroes had finally
agreed to return in November, but on the day he was due to leave
he was killed 'in a shoot-out with German soldiers', a 'tragedy' first
reported by Kale and subsequently confirmed by N section's favourite
team of investigative reporters, Messrs Cucumber, Potato, Parsnip
and Co.)
On 13 April Kale sent a lengthy message via Cucumber stating that
because of the unavoidable delays in returning he proposed to send
a full report on the Secret Army's progress in a number of separate
messages. He would use his own code and spread the transmissions
between Cucumber, Broccoli and Tomato.
With Nick's permission, I warned N section that Kale was in danger
of overloading his code, and that it would be safer to send all his reports in Cucumber's reserve poem number three, which he must use
exclusively for his Secret Army traffic. Another reason for suggesting a j
change of code was that if Kale had been caught it might prevent j
Giskes from realizing that London suspected it. '
On 14 April N section instructed Kale to use Cucumber's reserve! poem number 3 for his Secret Army reports, but stressed that continued
efforts must be made to assist Broadbean to reach Pans toi
organize new escape lines. y
N section then instructed Tomato to inform Kale that Netbattg would bring an envelope with him containing spare poems for Kale^j
Cucumber, Tomato and Broccoli, and that if Netball's drop we-- delayed until 16 April, Gherkin, a first-class organizer, would accol pany him.
* 88. »
282
hese arrangements were being finalized without any objections Holland's leading travel agent, the April moon was also being of always to better advantage) by SOE's rival French sections.
5 April Peter Churchill was once again dispatched to the South ce. This time he was dropped into the Haute Savoie, where
Sanson and Rabinovitch were waiting to receive him. He
succeeded in dropping into Odette's arms, and Rabinovitch
tted a message from him that he'd arrived safely, and that his
m committee was 'absolutely perfect'.
days later Rabinovitch reported that Peter and Odette had
ptured the previous night in the Hotel de la Poste in St Jerioz. lid send a detailed report as soon as he could.
8 April he sent a message which was far too long for his own
explaining that, after leaving Peter and Odette at the hotel, he'd i to his set to report to London. The hotel had been raided in the mrs of the morning by a group of Carabinieri led by a German
believed was a senior member of the secret police. Peter and
posing as husband and wife, had been found in an upstairs bedid
arrested. He thought they'd been taken to an Italian prison. 9 April Buckmaster urged Rabinovitch to return to London via
lish escape routes but Rabinovitch refused. He knew that Roger
aerts the plodder) had gone to Cannes and wanted to warn him
'S and Odette's arrest. Only when this had been accomplished
te return to London. In the meantime he would keep his messages
: as possible and would stay out of touch for the next week.
Sidays later two more of Buckmaster's agents were arrested.
We Germaine Tambour and her sister Madeleine, whose con- id been invaluable to F section and whose house had been t, a group of key agents (including Peter) as a letter-box and ('place.
pa major setback for Buckmaster, and I pretended not to see
i I passed him in the corridor on his way to the Signals ; was deeply involved with all his agents, but Peter was in ategory. He was not only Buckmaster's friend but a member
Jidquarters staff with a detailed knowledge of his forward
|,and Maurice now had to face the likelihood that two of
circuits (Prosper and Carte) had collapsed. He sent a
283
^,
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
batch of messages to the field warning his agents not to use safehouses
frequented by Peter, Odette and the Tambour sisters, and gave
them a list of new ones which they must start using immediately.
It was left to Duke Street to provide April's only good news.
On 16 April de Gaulle recalled Passy, Brossolette and Tommy from
France. They were picked up by Lysander close to midnight, and
resumed their duties in London early next morning.
I checked that Tommy's cigar lay in state next to the photo of the
Louis-Schmeling fight which Rabinovitch had given me. They were
still the only objects in my desk I could be sure of finding.
On 18 April Kale's first report on the Dutch Secret Army was transmitted
by Cucumber. It was perfectly encoded in Cucumber's reserve
poem number 3 and gave a detailed analysis of the progress being made
in the sixteen provinces where the main recruitment was taking place.
On 21 April Netball, Gherkin and Lacrosse were dropped into
Holland with twenty-eight containers and seven packages.
On 22 April Ebenezer confirmed Lacrosse's safe arrival. He added
that more supply operations would be very welcome in the near future
and that eight tommy-guns should be included. He also needed a
large quantity of abrasives (my comments on supplying them were
open to offer).
On the same night Cucumber reported the safe arrival of Netball
and Gherkin, and asked when the next shipment of containers could be expected.
Compliant as ever, London assured him that dropping operations
would continue until the end of the moon period on 25 April but would be cancelled during the dark period and resumed when the new moon started on 9 May.
Later the same day (23 April) London assured Ebenezer that six
containers would be dispatched to him in the next moon period but
warned him that the address in Switzerland used by Potato for his jj
innocent letters was no longer safe.*
* 'Innocent letters' were usually sent to neutral territories for onward transmission t»jj
SOE. The only innocent thing about them was the code they used, which was a form r~ Playfair at its most vulnerable.
284
pril's biggest shock (if not the war's) came on 24 April, and augh I'd been taught by Father that anyone who complained that aottom had dropped out of his world was an arse-hole, I joined
distinguished company.
was informed by the supervisor at 53b that Cucumber had trans- ed an indecipherable from Kale, and that all routine attempts
reak it had failed. The code-groups were being teleprinted to ion.
immediately contacted the signalmaster, who assured me that ispheric conditions had been excellent, that Cucumber's
ating had been flawless, and that there was no question of Morse
ilation.
lis negated every theory I had about the Germans double- king Dutch agents' coding.
icking the self-confidence to give up a conviction, I decided that
two inferences could be drawn from this unique indecipherable. sr Kale had made a mistake in his coding, which meant that he
free. Or Giskes had produced another masterstroke! rhaps he had broken my deliberate indecipherable, and was
ying me in kind.
irayed in Hebrew and in Latin that this wasn't the case because ?only knew what he'd think up next. Svas still praying when Muriel put the code-groups in front of
285
THIRTY-SIX
Desperate Measures
Despite Nick's perceptive advice to 'treat Kale's indecipherable
like any other' I was unable to respond to it with the necessary
detachment. But after wasting ten minutes searching for new
approaches, I realized that speculation about Giskes would hold up
the breaking, and that I must proceed on the assumption that Kale
was free.
The most important question was whether he'd encoded the message
himself or allowed his WT operator (Cucumber) to do it for
him. It was a hard one to resolve because, despite strict orders to the
contrary, organizers often handed their codes to their WT operators
and asked them to encode their messages for them; Kale might not
regard this as much of an infringement as he was using one of Cucumber's
poems.
I referred to the notes I'd made on their respective briefings.
Kale's had taken place on 18 September '42, and he'd been dropped
into Holland on the 24th (my birthday, since no essential information
should be withheld). Cucumber's had taken place on 25 October,
and he'd been dropped on the 27th. Both had an excellent grasp of double-transposition, but agents tended to put on special performances
at their final briefings, if only to get rid of me, and it was
essential to see what kind of mistakes they'd made at their training
schools.
Muriel produced their training files without having to be asked.
Kale had encoded four indecipherables in fifteen messages, all due to misnumbered key-phrases. Cucumber had encoded twelve inde- ^ cipherables in thirty messages - six due to 'hatted' columns, five toij
misnumbered key-phrases, and one to a misspelt word in his poein.^
286
lie had done his own encoding, we'd concentrate on misnumbered
phrases. If Cucumber had done it for him, we'd have to broaden
ittack.
decided that commanders of Secret Armies were occasionally
yn to set good examples and that Kale had encoded the message
•elf.
500 attempts later there was no sign of a misnumbered key.se.
I instructed the girls to try another 1,000, and tackled 100
;lf. None of them succeeded, and the message's 300 letters began
;el like 3,000.
aring at the code-groups, I suddenly realized that there was an
Mtant factor which I'd completely overlooked.
lis was only the second time that Kale had used Cucumber's
a, and its unfamiliarity might have caused him to misspell a word.
poem was in Dutch, and I'd need someone to advise me on
mon misspellings.
ried to contact Bingham and Killick but was told that they were
deir way to a training school, and left a message for them to ring
is soon as they could.
hen enquired if there was anyone in the Signals directorate who
even a smattering of the language.
coder admitted that she'd spent a week in Amsterdam and knew
)utch for 'kiss my arse', and a signalmaster had been able to order
itch cap in The Hague, but that was the limit of their fluency.
Sras wondering whether to contact the Dutch government-in-exile
a rescue arrived from a source far closer to home.
ie menaces who shared the office with me (Charlotte Denman
.Molly Brewis) knew that I was in dire straits and hadn't once
icapted me. Then, without any warning, Molly Menace cleared
throat and blushed like a schoolgirl admitting her first crush. 'I
V a word or two of Dutch,' she said.
|e three of us occasionally surprised each other (a major asset to
Ipntary intimacy), and I thanked her for the best news of the day.
l^d until the great frame was seated beside me, and explained that
|S not only misspelled the words of their poems but frequently
pSd them with similar-sounding words ('piece' for 'peace', 'mite'
|*lght, 'soul' for 'sole'). Hoping to promote some rivalry, I added
287
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
that Vera Atkins of F section excelled at suggesting similar-soundine
words, and had helped us with many a French indecipherable (some
of them Duke Street's, though I hadn't admitted it).
'Oh God,' she exclaimed. 'I'm awful at guessing games.' And then
proceeded to prove it.
Her first dozen guesses produced gibberish, and she tried a dozen
more, watching anxiously while I tested them.
To make her feel part of the operation, I explained that the charts
I was using showed how the first line of the message would be read
if her guesses were correct. But unfortunately none of them were.
By now she was beginning to enjoy it, and made another twenty
suggestions. Twenty more fiascos.
Unaccustomed to being a silent spectator, Mrs Denman announced
that she'd like to ask a question.
'Please do,' I said, hoping she wanted to know when Molly could
return to her desk.
'Do you still think that the message was either encoded by a German
or checked by one before it was transmitted?' It was my first
intimation that Nick had told her of my suspicions.
'Yes - what of it?' was my courteous response,
'Then shouldn't you be trying to misspell the poem as a German
might instead of a Dutchman?'
The idea hadn't even occurred to me.
'Will you marry me. Charlotte? - and we'll adopt Molly?'
A team by now, we held a brief conference and agreed that the
obvious solution was to consult X section (the German directorate),
though there was so much secrecy about anything to do with the
Dutch that we mightn't be allowed to approach them.
Charlotte suggested that by the time we got official permission we
could have learned the language ourselves.
Blushing again, Molly admitted that she spoke a word or two of
German.
Our adopted daughter then went into action.
Her first dozen suggestions produced nothing but Kauderwelsch,
which according to her was the German for gibberish.
Her next dozen produced more of the same but, encouraged by';
Charlotte, she Kauderwelsched on.
288
decided by now that it would be quicker if I tried to anagram
essage out using Kale's first message for probable content. I
pondering how to break the news without hurting everyone's
's when they came to the next word of the poem: Trijs'.
ippose it would be "preis" in German," said Molly, without
conviction.
doubt of it,' said Charlotte, 'no doubt at all.'
ring no faith in it whatsoever, I substituted 'Preis' for 'Prijs' and
ered the transposition-key accordingly, making two mistakes in
ocess.
n't Molly help?' enquired Charlotte. 'She's good at maths too.'
d that one of us was, I numbered the phrase correctly, and then
d the charts, warning them that there was very little chance of
:ext emerging.
• letters utr appeared, followed by echt . . .
'echt' yelled the ladies in case I missed it.
: minutes later Kale's second report on the Secret Army was
for distribution. Nick, N section and Gubbins were notified,
told the coders at 53b that their colleagues in London had
n it to make them feel less excluded.
Sham telephoned and instructed me to read the message to him
fae scrambler. He rang off without comment the moment I'd
xL
ne people', said Charlotte, 'know the Preis of everything and
lue of nothing.'
hour later I learned that I was one of them.
SlUed in to offer his congratulations, and I asked if Charlotte
tolly could be transferred to the code department.
bthree of them then had a personal conversation which they
no attempt to conduct in undertones - an event without prece^s
concerned two of their friends who'd been married for fifty
rithout being separated for more than a day. The wife had
scently, and although her husband had nothing physically
ifrith him, he took to his bed and willed himself to follow her.
|ys ago he had succeeded, and tomorrow they were to be
|ttde by side.
289
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I wondered how it must feel to be buried next to one's other half
for ever, bombs and property developers permitting:
It will feel strange
Not to nudge you
Or to talk to you
Or keep you warm
When you're lying there
Only a few feet away
Or perhaps even less
But we shall get used to it in time
Of which we'll have plenty
We always treasured silences
In which we said everything
We shall continue to treasure them
And to say everything
Throughout the longest silence of all.
It had no place in the ditty-box but I'd found that occasional dollops
of sentiment cleared my head for facts, and there were three which
I had to live \vith:
1 I was never going to convince SOE of the extent of Giskes';
penetration.
2 I was too close to the corpse of Kale's indecipherable to conduc
a proper autopsy.
3 My talent as a cryptographer was the longest silence of all.
290
THIRTY-SEVEN
Punitive Expedition
&Was rare for anyone outside the Signals directorate to show the
fchtest interest in how indecipherables were broken, but when I
||t welcomed it Gubbins and Bingham displayed too much.
lie general required a full report on the significance (if any) of
s'/'Preis', and Bingham wanted to know if we'd made the mistake
ielves.
fter a cooling-off period of one morning (a millennium by SOE's
dards) I returned to 'Prijs'/'Preis', and rapidly decided that Giskes
a't sent London a deliberate indecipherable. If he'd wanted to
Hi the compliment, he'd have taken at least as much trouble as
d, and wouldn't have used a Germanicized misspelling. But this
|(tidn't mean that Kale wasn't caught.
Was unlikely that Giskes would undertake the manual labour of
Ae-transposition in addition to his own creative writing, and a
}ent subordinate might have encoded the message, or failed to
e Kale's encoding if he'd been permitted to do it himself. Perhaps
ermans had their off moments too.
id as much in my report to Nick, emphasizing that 'the hitherto
t encoding of all Dutch agents despite the circumstances in
I'they operated' must surely lead to only one conclusion: that
of them had been caught on landing, or shortly afterwards.
is instructed by return to keep a 'special watch' on Kale's future
r
l^next batch of messages were perfectly encoded, and on 29
Ite sent his final Secret Army report. He ended by stressing that
Battle to liberate Holland didn't take place soon even his most
i«
291
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
resolute supporters would be influenced by German propaganda (vintage
Giskes?).
The traffic of Ebenezer, Heck, Hockey and Co. was equally disturbing
as they'd never been more active in the Allied cause. Between
the lot of them, they were going to evacuate Broadbean to Paris
locate the headquarters of the 65th Marine Infantry division, and
verify a report that the Germans were preparing to re-inundate the
old Dutch water defences in case of invasion.
I wondered how much longer Giskes could keep it up.
At the beginning of May the Executive Council made an announcement
which was so long overdue that all but agnostics had given up praying for it. The symbols list proclaimed that Colonel F. W. Nicholls
had replaced Colonel G. D. Ozanne as director of Signals.
Heffer, who'd been lobbying for months to bring this about, confided
that Ozanne had been sent on leave prior to being outposted
on 1 June, and had been allowed a few hours' grace in which to clear
out his belongings. SOE had no use for empty bottles.
I congratulated the Guru on his part in our liberation, and asked
the key question: Was Nick now in a position to insist on showing
the Dutch traffic to Tiltman?
Edging towards the door, he reminded me that Nick had been MS
(director of Signals) for less than half an hour and that I mustn't
expect miracles. He then quietly informed me that Nick was now in
the running to become a member of the Executive Council and that
it would be a great help to all of us if he were elected.
He escaped without answering my question about Tiltman.
En route to the Signals Office for a punitive purpose, I spotted the
deposed Ozanne waddling down the corridor. He stopped outside
his office as if he wondered whether to knock, then disappeared
inside, perhaps for the last time.
A few seconds later I found myself knocking on his door.
His Gubbins-like 'Come' was now a fledgling FANY's quaver. He was as astonished to see me as I was to be there.
I knew I daren't smile in case he thought I'd come to gloat.
'What the devil do you want?'
As I tried to work it out, the drowning man's life flashed before me.
292
PUMITIVB EXPEDITION
He'd been appointed MS in February '42 and immediately imposed
's concept of clandestine communications on SOE. Despite the prosts
of his subordinates his confidence in C's judgement remained
irblind, and by the time Nick arrived to take control of agents'
affic he'd successfully crushed all efforts to scrap the poem-code
id replace it with WOKs. He'd also supported all the other Signals sathtraps recommended by C. A professional Signals officer, he'd
(ffered the ultimate ignominy of being found inadequate by amateurs
at at least his convictions were genuine, unlike those of some senior
|ures in SOE. <I need a bit of advice, sir.'
He clearly thought he'd misheard me. 'You need a bit of what?'
'ft was tempted to say 'nookie' but, true though this was, it was tedly likely to concern him. 'A bit of advice, sir.' ie examined me from head to toe (a regrettably short distance) as tient reminder that I'd thwarted his efforts to make a second :enant in the Royal Corps of Signals. 'If you've got a problem,
; it to Colonel Nicholls or Captain Heffer - it's what they're here
explained that they were on their way to Station 53b and that I
|'t think it could wait.
eyed me suspiciously as I struggled to think of a problem to
nt to him. 'What is it then?' he finally asked. 'I haven't much
anembered that I was clutching a telegram which I'd been on fay to dispatch when I'd spotted him in the corridor. It was ssed to the coders of Massingham, who'd received an inde-
able from an agent in Italy which they'd made no attempt to
though it had been in the code room for almost a week. My
land included the motto, 'There shall be no such thing as an
pherable message', and contained a number of other pertinent feients. 'It's about this message I want to send Massingham, sir.' ""med him of the girls' dereliction, and that I wanted to send
i suitably worded reprimand.
at the devil's that to do with me?'
plained that the first thing I wanted him to do was initial the
'"i so that it could be sent out at once.
293
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
He reminded me sharply that ever since I'd been appointed head
of agents' codes I'd been allowed to originate main-line telegrams
and he wasn't aware that my authority had been rescinded, though
he suspected that it should have been.
'I have the authority, sir, but I was hoping for your comments on
the message itself. I'm not sure if it's strong enough.'
He examined the telegram as if it too were wearing civilian clothing
which had been manufactured by a Jewish tailor who was far from
bespoke. A sound escaped him which might have been a belch, or an
even less sociable intestinal call-sign. 'I don't know what you're up
to, Marks! But if you really want my opinion of this ...'
I assured him that I did, and found that I meant it.
He gave me a brief lecture on the art of reprimanding subordinates,
his chins waddling as he warmed to his particular sphere of expertise.
He then said that in his opinion the motto was the only reminder the
girls needed, that the phrase 'get off your arses' was not in SOE's
code-book, though he often felt it should be, and that the best of us
can make mistakes.
He ended by running his pencil through everything which he considered
redundant, and contemplated the result with an editor's satisfaction.
It had lost twenty words and was all the better for it.
I thanked him for improving the message and repeated my request
for him to initial it.
'Why do you need me to if you've got the authority?'
'So that I can blame it on you if it backfires, sir.'
He chuckled as he initialled his last telegram, and his next question
took me completely by surprise.
'What's happened to your new codes which I didn't think much
of?'
I told him that the first WOKs and LOPs would be delivered in a
fortnight but would have to be checked and camouflaged and couldn t
be issued until the June moon.
A small smile checked and camouflaged whatever he was thinking. ;
'Don't be impatient. June will be here all too soon, take it from me. His outposting was due on 1 June.
He stared down at an in-tray v/hich was as empty as his fut
and I couldn't believe what I said to him next.
294
'I'm not sure they're going to work, sir.' It was the first time I'd
idmitted this to anyone, myself included.
"Why not?'
'I don't know, sir - I've a feeling I've missed something.'
'Nonsense. They'll do the job, that's one thing I am sure of. ...
that's more . ..' His voice trailed away like Boni's touch on the
ceyboard, and a moment later he reached for the drawer where his
>ottles were kept.
. But he wasn't quite ready to relinquish command, and pointed a
ihaky finger at our joint telegram. 'You've marked that message "Top
Mority" and it's high time you gave it some! Dispatch it at once.'
; 'Right, sir.'
I-I wanted to thank him and wish him good luck but he gave me a
|tsmissive nod which might have been meant for both of us.
JsSt was only when I'd closed the door that I realized why I'd opened
j|il needed the company of another failure to make my own bearable.
'. would never know how much it owed to a tube of French
lipaste and a Belgian labourer's cap.
ley'd arrived last night from the Thatched Barn. The toothpaste
intended to camouflage a WOK, the cap a LOP, and I was
ly examining the false bottom of one and the lining of the other
I heard what was usually my favourite sound (my own voice)
; Ozanne that I was afraid the new codes weren't going to work
ad a feeling that I'd missed something.
; feeling was now a conviction.
ad something to do with the camouflage, though I'd no idea
To ease the growing tension and allow the cause of it to surface,
i the Belgian cap LOP sided and gave the French toothpaste a
squeeze. A white blob emerged but gave no warning of the
|, truth which accompanied it.
d paid endless attention to the camouflaging of codes but none
ret to the camouflaging of code-groups. If any of our codei
stood out in isolation, wireless interception units could pinthem
and track the movements of the operators who'd
titled them. They could also detect the arrival of new agents,
up a picture of impending operations.
295
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
WOK code-groups were exempt from this worry as they were the
product of double-transposition and couldn't be distinguished from
poem-code traffic. But LOP code-groups were the product of substitutions
and would stand out from all our other messages because of
the proportion of vowels to consonants, and the shortness of the
messages (as few as ten letters).
Unless we found a way to remedy this deficiency, interception units
would have a field day.
I hurried into Nick and showed him the same message encoded in
both a WOK and a LOP:
WOK message: COFIH LADEO STESA LERTD NUSOT DRNIS
LOP message: XTZOM YVHJR ZDVGG TYPHL XVSTG DOZTE
He took one glance at the code-groups, and at once sent for Heffer.
The Guru was now MS/A (deputy director of Signals), but still
saw no reason to hurry, and examined the messages like a tortoise
reconnoitring a leaf. 'Right,' he finally said. 'What can we do about
it?'
We agreed that there was no way of making substitution codegroups
resemble transposition-keys without a major re-encipherment
process which agents couldn't undertake. Nor could we conceal the
shortness of the messages. We also agreed that LOPs were far too valuable to be abandoned.
Nick said that he'd encountered similar problems with peacetime
traffic, though they had little relevance to our present dilemma. After
exchanging reminiscences with Heffer, he decided that the only way
to prevent the enemy from pinpointing individual messages would be to wait until large numbers of agents had been issued with LOPs so that they opened up simultaneously right across Europe.
Heffer suggested that the best time would be August, when dropping
operations were likely to expand. Nick favoured November, and they compromised on September, subject to what might happen in the meantime.
Nick then congratulated me on spotting the problem in time, anO I hurried from the office before I exploded. 1
I should have spotted it from the outset. But so should Nick andj
296
r! And what about Tiltman and Dudley-Smith, the experts from
iley? Did they neglect to mention it because it was so elementary
hey felt they didn't need to?
at else was so obvious that the head of agents' codes had comy
overlooked it?
er wasting an hour brooding about Holland, and the dangers
tch agents using Belgian escape lines, I heard the sound of my
rite footsteps.
idn't seen Tommy since he'd called in to claim the cigar which
his return from France official. That was over a fortnight ago
d missed being part of his dawn patrol.
wever, I'd kept track of his progress, and knew that he'd been
or by his idol de Gaulle, who'd thanked him for all that he was
for France, and asked for his impressions of the French will to
)ped that he hadn't come to evaluate mine.
sat opposite me, which made the office complete, studied my
nstead of the contents of my desk, and asked if he were inter-
ig-
» more than usual.'
accepted a new cigar and continued to watch me in silence as
it. 'Now then,' he said. 'Bring me up to date.'
toduced a silk for his inspection, and he examined it as if he
wearing gloves. Pronouncing it excellent, he reminded me that
"st time he'd seen a WOK it was still an idea on paper.
»s about to say that without his encouragement it probably still
("be when he caught sight of a LOP. 'That looks interesting.
ou allowed to tell me what it is?'
»,' I said, and proceeded to show him how it worked.
listened in silence, then asked if he could try it for himself. He
t» message in French fifty letters long 'to give it a proper test',
patched him become the first agent to encode a message in a
i a ponderous performance as he double-checked each letter he
red. 'This is bloody slow going,' he complained. But halfway
|tfae message he began to find his rhythm, and he finished the
ity-five letters more quickly than I could.
297
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'What do you call this code?'
'A LOP!'
'Short for "Leo's an old pisspot"?'
'Letter one-time pad.'
'Available to Duke Street?'
'If they'll accept it.'
'Why the hell shouldn't they? - I'll help you all I can . .. remind
me about the checks.'
I took him through them again, though I knew he understood them
and was simply making sure that he'd done his correctly.
'Do we have to make a choice between WOKs and LOPs?'
I said that I hoped that LOPs would become the main code, with
WOKs in reserve, and poems in emergencies.
'There'll be plenty of those . .. but I can promise you this. These
codes are going to make a lot of difference to a hell of a lot of agents
and I hope to be one of them. I'll use both of them next time I go
in. Agreed?'
'Yes, Tommy.'
I hoped that if he had to go in again, it wouldn't be before September.

He glanced at his watch as if it were September already, then rose abruptly, and I wished him goodnight.
He didn't reply till he reached the door. He then turned back, and spoke very quietly. 'Next time, perhaps you'd care to tell me what's
worrying you - something bloody well is, and it's about time it ;
stopped.' !I
'Old pisspot' spent the rest of the night wondering how he knew. |
298
THIRTY-EIGHT
The Secret Weapon
tmntry sections approved of poem-codes because they couldn't be
|tected if agents were searched. The fact that they could be tortured
|i; of them and were easy to break were secondary considerations.
Sfaey opposed the introduction of silks and we had to ask Gubbins
lover-rule them (as he'd assured Nick he would), we'd get their
hictant co-operation but forfeit their goodwill.
knowing this, on 2 June Nick took the unprecedented step of
|ding a memo to all country section heads requesting them to see
|an the presence of their respective signals officers, so that I could lin on MS/A's behalf why a radically new system of agents'
ic would shortly be introduced. We agreed that there was no
t in mentioning LOPs: if WOKs didn't convince them of the S of tangible codes, nothing would.
a 3 June I embarked on the sales campaign, knowing that Frank ..would make a far better job of it.
aurice Buckmaster was the first country section head to be shown |OK. Normally responsive to everything which would enhance
Irelfare of his agents, he was facing the collapse of his two princiSrcuits,
and suggesting new codes to him was like taking a drownI's
hand and offering to manicure it.
ive a cursory glance at the WOK which I put in front of him,
;d that he didn't want his agents to carry another damn thing,
: the rest to Captain Noble, his signals officer. (couldn't have submitted the code to a better qualified judge. I (real name George Begue) was a self-effacing Frenchman with
ed distinction of being the first SOE agent to parachute into
i. He'd been dropped blind into France in May '41, taking
299
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
with him a rudimentary wireless set and a poem-code. He transmitted
more than forty vital messages but had such contempt for his security checks that he'd ignored them altogether, and relied on prearranged
questions and answers. He'd been arrested by the Vichy police in
October '41, and F section didn't expect to hear from him again. But
in July '42 he'd escaped from a Vichy-run prison in the heart of the
Dordogne, taking nine of his fellow-agents with him. He made his
way to Lyons, crossed the frontier into Spain, and was taken on to
Buckmaster's HQ staff as soon as he returned to London.
He'd be a major asset to the Signals directorate as a briefing officer.
But at this moment he could also be an insuperable obstacle.
I explained the advantages of silk codes to him but didn't mention
their security checks. I wanted to see if he'd refer to them himself,
and with a cynical little smile he eventually did.
Although he grasped the principle at once, I gave him a detailed
exposition in case Maurice was tuning in. Noble waited impatiently
till I'd finished, then copied out a pair of WOK-keys, rapidly encoded
a message, and changed the indicator by secret numbers known only
to him. As if to prove Nick's maxim, 'once an agent always an agent',
he checked his handiwork carefully while his fingers drummed out
the code-groups in Morse. Satisfied that he hadn't forgotten how to doubly-transpose, he produced a razor blade and without asking
permission (which I'd gladly have given) cut the keys off the silk and
watched them smoulder. I knew just how they felt.
He then turned to Buckmaster, who was somewhere in France. 'If I'd been given such a silk to take in,' he said, 'I'd have troubled to use my security checks.'
Maurice reluctantly conceded that WOKs might be suitable for WT operators because they could hide them with their sets, but he was damned if he'd force organizers to carry codes as they moved around France, no matter how well the bloody things were camouflaged.
He glared at me with his 'My decision is final' expression. ^
Noble was silent when I needed him most.
I confided to Maurice that WOKs were in very short supply and that it was most unlikely that we'd be able to spare them for all
organizers as the Free French demands were likely to be heavy.
At this point I had my first order.
300
l outraged Maurice accused me of not realizing how important
rganizers were, and he absolutely insisted that all F section agents
.given silk codes or I'd damn soon hear from him. And so would
lolls.
id if the WOKs weren't forthcoming he'd go straight to Gubbins.
E»ble winked at me as I left.
aext potential client was Colonel Hutchison.
aould hardly tell the head of RF section that I was ten minutes
for our appointment because I'd stopped off en route to break
(decipherable in de Gaulle's secret code and sent it round to Duke
| properly enciphered.
JH autocratic colonel glanced at his watch as soon as I entered
rffice, and I apologized for the unavoidable delay. His signals
j|r (tiny Kay Moore) was perched beside him, notebook at the
Oticed that he had Nick's memo in front of him with several
fcunderlined.
announced that although French was the only language perthe
premises, he'd make an exception in my case. I made
on in his by giving him a simplistic WOK-briefing, and he
d on the quality of the soie.
said that although he was expecting 'radical changes' he
I'anticipated such a complete volte-face, and was by no means
t was for the better. He then insisted on encoding a mesf.

im five minutes to decide on a suitable text, another five
his transposition-keys, and five more to remember what
them.
I I studied each other in silence. I was surprised that she
to look at me. It was largely my fault that she had the
warding job in the whole of SOE.
ler responsibility to liaise between me and an enemy I'd
uke Street named Lieutenant Valois, who was in charge of ®och radio and Signals planning. She also had to act as er (his English was on a par with my French) and we
iat she edited our exchanges.
301
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
The main cause of our dissension was the prefixes he needed fo
de Gaulle's secret code. In order to show each other when they wer
using this abomination, Duke Street and its agents added specia
prefixes to their messages, and it was up to me to provide them. A
present I owed Valois twenty, every one of them a potential L-table)
I'd repeatedly told him that these prefixes made it easy for th Germans to identify the secret French code and, though I had no ide
what sort of code it was, it would be safer if the agents stopped usin
it as it was overloading their traffic.
He angrily reminded me that SOE had agreed to the use of thi
code, that the Free French had no intention of abandoning it, am
that he was in no position to meddle with high-level policy He suggested that I might care to raise the matter with General d
Gaulle.
'Who?' I'd said.
At which point Kay had remembered another appointment.
I returned sharply to 3 June when Hutchison announced that he'i finished his message, and allowed me the privilege of inspecting it.
He'd 'hatted' three columns and omitted five code-groups, but
congratulated him on his excellent coding.
'It's simple enough,' he said, 'and has a number of advantages, bu
the problem is Duke Street. . .' He explained that the Free Frend
were being more than usually obstructive over a number of issues
and might not agree to the poem-code being scrapped. '
I pointed out that it was our responsibility to provide them wid safe codes, and that Duke Street's autonomy applied only to d Gaulle's secret code, whatever that might be.
'That's all very well,' he said, 'but they mightn't see it that wa» I'll have to think the whole thing over.' >!
I urged him not to take too long as I'd just come from a meetinj
with F section, whose requirements could exhaust our luniw
supplies.
However, he was too experienced an in-fighter to respond ^ order number two, and said he'd deal with the question of prior if and when it arose. He then asked for Kay's opinion of silks.
The canny little lady made the most of her opportunity. Sin
sweetly, she said she thought they were an enormous improves
302
that Duke Street was far likelier to agree to them if Leo would
j Valois the list of prefixes he was waiting for. [e looked at her in astonishment. 'What list? What prefixes? First
? heard of this.'
bey then had a rapid exchange in French, and the only word I >gnized was Leo.
lie look which the colonel shot at me needed no translation. 'It's t job to provide prefixes as soon as Valois asks for them. Why fen't you?'
explained that it was due to an oversight for which I accepted aresponsibility.
|hen remedy it at once.'
|tgreed that I would. yyhen? Be precise.'
l&ld him that I was on my way to some appointments which were
: as important as this one, and would attend to the list by the
;the day.
ant them on my desk first thing tomorrow and I'll send them
he Street with a covering note.'
dized that he wanted the kudos of breaking the deadlock.
i^I have your word that they'll be here?'
sing that a deal was in the offing, I promised that my secretary
I deliver them to him personally.
|<:hat case you can count on my full support. Do I make myself
oui, mon colonel - absolument - je vous remercie mille 1'didn't translate it.
K>wn, and four to go.
ough the Norwegian, Danish and Belgian sections were having
|< time as the French they gave me an easy one. Their questions '"' tinent, their estimates sensible, and they hoped the system
e working by August.
sleft only the Dutch.
i and his signals officer, Killick, had coffee waiting but were
i not to offer me a Dutch cigar. Bingham congratulated me
303
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
on breaking Kale's indecipherable, and asked if I'd come to any
further conclusions about 'Preis'/'Prijs'.
I told him that I hadn't, and plunged into the briefing.
They listened to my recitative as if it were a personal message from
Queen Wilhelmina, and Bingham asked his few questions with a hint
of apology.
I still didn't trust the man but he'd done a good job since he'd
become head of N section, abandoning reception committees and
insisting that new Dutch agents should be dropped blind.
I enquired how many WOKs they were likely to need over the
next few months.
They exchanged glances. Bingham then explained that the loss of
Boni had forced them to rethink their plans and they'd be sending in
very few agents during the next two moon periods. He added that
he and Killick were confident that fullscale operations would be
resumed in August.
Without any warning Killick asked if I thought that the Germans
were reading any of their messages.
I was still under instructions not to disclose my suspicions, and
Killick's timing warned me to treat him with respect. I replied that
the poem-code wasn't secure enough for the level of traffic SOE was
passing, but we had no evidence that the Germans had cracked it or
were reading Dutch or any other country section's messages.
Refilling my cup, which I'd made the supreme sacrifice of emptying,
Bingham asked if I were suspicious of any Dutch agent's security^
checks. |
I admitted that I was suspicious of all security checks in the poem";
code except for prearranged questions and answers, and that this;
applied to all country sections. I then assured them that WOK-checks
would enable agents to alert London the moment they were caught
and offered to run through the system again.
They declined politely. 'What we really want to know,' said Bin^
ham, 'is whether you suspect any particular agent's security checks
The atmosphere was as fraught as a gynaecologist's ante-room.j
'I've told you what I think of security checks,' I said, sinking t
the occasion. 'I distrust the lot of 'em. But can't we pinpoint
Are there any agents you're especially worried about?'
304
Bingham transfixed me with a stare, then shook his head.
I was wondering whether history would ever credit our follies, let
alone learn from them, and whether Ebenezer would ever stip, step,
and stap us in the balls, when I realized that Bingham was holding
put his hand.
? He thanked me for coming, apologized for taking up so much time,
and said that silks would be a great help to Dutch agents.
| I didn't tell him that one reason they were having them was that
jSiskes would be suspicious if they didn't.
?•
Igave Nick and Heffer a verbatim account of each meeting, stressing
1»at the Dutch were worried about their traffic, and that they'd tried
ard to get me to confirm their suspicions. I didn't mention how close
key'd come to succeeding.
; Nick patted my shoulder as if conferring a knighthood and said
tat I'd handled their questions very tactfully.
I'But why's tact necessary? Surely it's time we talked to them
jpenly?' Perhaps I'd done one sales-pitch too many and my voice
pas inaudible because he didn't seem to hear me. I raised it an octave,
ad asked if we could discuss Boni's capture with them.
h was clear from his expression that a mutiny was about to be
ished. Rising like a cathedral in the course of construction, he
ninded me that the general's orders hadn't changed, that it wasn't
' business to question them, and that having won the battle for
cs I should concentrate on producing them.
[ realized that the internal Dutch game was completely beyond me,
Hiked him for his clarification, and turned to go.
booking at me suspiciously, Heffer said he was certain I'd been up
tomething which I hadn't disclosed, that the experience had shaken
I in a way that nothing else had, and he'd like to know what it
Iptold him that I would too, and that I'd let him know if I ever
»d out, and left it at that.
pt he was right.
te'd been reports in the press, which didn't necessarily mean they
Iwithout foundation, that a Whitehall department was investigat-
305
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
ing rumours that Hitler had finally given in to his mystical impulses
and was trying to use telepathy as a secret weapon. In which case
the Fuhrer and I had something in common.
Lacking his resources, I'd developed a home-made technique for
which the patent was pending. It consisted of a switching-off process
with a tuning-in appendage, and I'd tried it on the country section
heads.
Although I couldn't sustain it for more than a minute at a time, I
was convinced that it had enabled me to pick up some vital signals
from them. I was then appalled to discover that I couldn't decipher
a single one. It was as if their unspoken thoughts had been transmitted
in LOPs. The harder I tried to understand what I knew I knew, the
more remote it became.
Exhausted by my efforts to dabble in unconscious communication,
I went home early, and awoke with such heightened awareness that
I heard the sun come out.
It was then that I realized the nature of the special traffic which
had passed between us. Without knowing it, the section heads had
made a present to me which I'd been slow to unwrap. It was an
unsolicited gift of a kind which I had never expected to receive from
them, but it couldn't have arrived at a more inopportune moment.
They'd given me a wholly new idea for agents' codes.
306
THIRTY-NINE
appointment with Royalty
road to hell is paved with good intentions' caused forty-eight
•s of purgatory when an F-section agent spelt hell with three Ts.
chat was a year ago, which meant it was ancient history, and I'd
since discovered a quicker road to hell.
led from my black-market flat to the abattoir which employed
and every inch of it was paved with discarded ideas for winning
:ode war. But last night's arrival reached Baker Street intact. It
far more than just another coding system. It was a wholly new
•oach to the job.
hedit for it (an important consideration even in wartime) belonged
|e country section heads.
ie experience of seeing six of them in situ at a time when nothing
going right for them had been as great a revelation to me as
Ks had been to them. The bloody-minded resilience with which
responded to disasters, especially those of their own making,
their determination to liberate their territories no matter what,
fceen my first glimpse of what would one day be known as the
It of Resistance.
t-made another discovery about them which came as an even
|C surprise, if only because it was obvious.
"- "ession was their common denominator, and each of them had
:h in his make-up as a saint's unconscious. They taught me
at knowing it) that I was only half doing my job. It wasn't
t to give agents safe codes and reliable security checks. These
efensive measures.
Bust mount a deception scheme to convince the enemy that they
ifronting poem-codes, when in fact they were dealing with
307
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
WOKs. LOPs would be harder to counterfeit, but could be thought
about later. I christened the offensive 'Operation Gift-horse' and
decided to forget it for a week to give its flaws a chance to emerge.
But Gift-horse refused to canter away, and I spent several hours
jotting down the clues which would most attract the enemy.
Late that night someone knocked on the door so I knew it couldn't
be Tommy.
Maurice Buckmaster apologized for disturbing me, slumped into a
chair, and was silent for thirty seconds, which may well have set a
record.
I expected bad news about Peter and Odette.
'I wish that damn canteen was open' he finally said.
That at least I could remedy.
Between mouthfuls of mother's sandwiches, he again apologised
for disturbing me, then blurted out a name.
'Noor Inayat Khan!'
Getting no response, he explained that she was a W.T. operator
who'd finished her course at Beaulieu, and was due to be dropped |
into France in ten days' time.
He stressed that although Beaulieu hadn't had to teach her a damn
thing about operating a set as she'd previously been trained by the
R.A.F. ('who were damn sorry to lose her'), the problem was that
'that bastard Spooner' (Beaulieu's C.O.) had 'taken against her', and
had written a report saying that she was 'temperamentally unsuitable* j
to be an agent, and would be a major security risk if she were sent|
to the field. 'Which is absolute balls' said Buckmaster, returning some- [
what to normal. He admitted that all her Instructors agreed widr
Spooner's reservations. I
'What else could one expect from that mob of second-raters?' J
He then confided that 'that damn busybody' had sent a copy <W]
his report to Baker Street, and the question of whether Noor won
be allowed to go to France was now in the balance.
Restoring his own equilibrium with the help of mother's ca
he conceded that Noor's character needed more understanding i
Spooner and Co could possibly provide.
His face betraying a hint of tenderness, he described her as a'»
tive somewhat dreamy girl' who'd spent her childhood in Pans,
308
light that her bi-lingual French would be far more useful to the
istance in France than it could ever be to the R.A.F. liter a moment's pause, he said he thought I should know she'd
ti given a 'mystical upbringing' by her father, an Indian Prince!
despite his influence, she could be practical when necessary, and
Id think a damn sight more quickly than Spooner. He added with
;rnalistic pride that she'd even had a book published.
asked him for its title and he thought it was 'the Tales of Jakarta',
couldn't remember its publishers.*
. blob of cream gave his face its only hint of colour.
taaware of his moustache, he reminded me that she'd been given
rinking report' by her coding-Instructor, but had an appointment
i me on June 7th for her final briefing. [e then looked at me with Gubbins-like penetration. 'I'm going
sk a favour of you,' he said, an unusual approach from Maurice,
i at his most exhausted.
Then I learned what the favour was I was disappointed that he
sidered it one. He wanted me to give Noor one of my 'extended tings'. In his opinion, nothing less would ensure that she not only
erstood her code-conventions but wouldn't forget them when she
ved in France. But under no circumstances must I give her one of
new silk codes. It might thoroughly confuse her and she'd be just
ikely to leave it lying around. 'I must admit,' he said, 'that Noor
a tendency to be absentminded.' laven't we all?' I replied, wondering if I should tell him about
cream on his nose. (He was always delighted when his rival de tile had egg on his face, which was most of the time.)
fe then reminded me that I'd given Roger (Cammaerts) an
aided briefing, and that he'd turned out to be an excellent coder. fl look at the rubbish they wrote about him.' he said. 'Now he's
of the best men I've got.' ('Plodder' Cammaerts, written off by
Instructors, was now one of F section's most reliable organizers, igh the competition was decreasing daily.)
living vented his indignation, Maurice tried the effect of a whisM»
gjiwenty Jakarta Tales published by George G. Harrap 1939.
309
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
per. 'Will you do the same for Noor? And can you spare the time to
send me a written report on her?'
I didn't answer him immediately because of what he'd withheld. I
knew that Spooner had sent adverse reports on her to the controller
of the French, Belgian and Dutch directorates (Robin Brook) and to
SOE's liaison officer with the Chiefs of Staff (Brigadier MocklerFerryman),
hoping that the latter would refer the dispute to Gubbins,
with whom Maurice was temporarily out of favour.
I also knew that an attempt had been made to drop Noor in May
but her plane had had to turn back as there was no reception committee
waiting. (I hadn't given her a final code-briefing because F section
had failed to notify us she was leaving.)
Nor had Maurice admitted that because of recent losses in the field
he was desperate to send another WT operator to France, and that
Noor was the only one available.
It was tempting to tell him that the Signals directorate picked up
more gossip than the country sections did agents, and that he
shouldn't try to involve us in high-level battles without a proper
briefing. 'I'll spend as long with her as it takes,' I said.
'And send me a written report afterwards?' He was obviously
counting on it being favourable. He might also be afraid that Noor
had forgotten how to code.
'Certainly, Maurice.'
He said something in French which I took to be thanks, shook my
hand, and de Gaulled out of the office.
I looked up 7 June in my diary. Muriel had pencilled in an hourlong
appointment with Noor Inayat Khan. I extended it to three. Any
longer than that and I might emerge as an Indian mystic.
On the morning of the 6th I contacted Noor's publishers, introduced
myself as the son of 84, and asked if they had a copy of The Jakarta
Tales.
Astonished to be asked for one, the manager agreed to make it
available at once, and allowed me a trade discount. I sent a WOKmaker
to pick it up, and re-read Noor's 'stinking report'.
Her instructor, a virile young lieutenant, had summarized her
coding as 'completely unpredictable' but may have had something
310
APPOINTMENT WITH ROYALTY
his mind as he'd spelt it 'unpredicktable'. My suspicions were
ed when he was happy to spend his lunch-hour discussing her
telephone.
rding to young virile, the 'potty princess' had caused more
on than any pupil in the history of Beaulieu. No two instrucild
agree on quite how bad an agent she'd be. Yet none of
mid deny that she was an excellent WT operator, though she
to stay on the air as if she were part of it. They were also
ous that her 'crackpot father' was responsible for her 'eccen.aviour'.
;ssed him for details of Daddy and a formidable picture
i. The 'crackpot' was head of a mystical sect (the Sufi), and
inded the 'House of Blessing' in Paris, where Noor had spent
dhood. He'd also founded Sufi lodges in most European capi-
order to spread the doctrine of love and forgiveness, but his
i of Blessing' were a curse to Beaulieu.
roll know what the bastards taught her? That the worst sin
Id commit was to lie about anything.'
result of this disastrous programming, she was unable to
even the most elementary precautions. He was happy to
a few examples.
lieu had sent her on a WT exercise, and she was cycling s her 'safe-house' to practise transmitting when a policeman
I her and asked what she was doing.
Taining to be an agent,' she said, 'here's my radio - want me v it to you?' She then removed it from its hiding place and
him to try it.
all Beaulieu trainees, she was given a mock interrogation by Stol police, after which the superintendent in charge told r'not to waste his time with her 'because if this girl's an agent teton Churchill'.
t^been so startled by an unexpected pistol shot that she'd gone fUn-like trance for several hours, and finally emerged from it (rit a Bible.
Iped this would be a help to me, and rang off to have his lunch.
|8t my appetite for food, crackpots and extended briefings.
» » »
311
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
On the morning of the 7th (the ordeal was at noon), I received a call
from tiny Kay Moore to thank me for Valois's prefixes, and to solicit
twenty more. As a contra-account, she gave me the latest news of
Tommy.
Our mutual friend was in nearly as much trouble as he caused. On 19 May he'd been awarded the Croix de Guerre (with palm) for his
services to France (which made him the first Englishman to be decorated
by de Gaulle, other than with acid), but the Air Ministry refused to allow him to wear it on the grounds that no British officer can
accept foreign decorations without official permission. Nor did the
Air Ministry accept that de Gaulle had the right to bestow it, and it
had taken several onslaughts by Hutchison to persuade 'the cretins'
to allow Tommy to wear his Croix de Guerre. But this was only the
start of his problems.
He'd also been awarded the Military Cross by the British, and his
delighted French friends had given a party in his honour at Duke
Street. He was then informed (without any reason being given) that
the Air Ministry had refused to sanction his ME and that he must
stop wearing it at once. This time even the combined wrath of Hutchison,
CD and Gubbins couldn't persuade the Air Ministry to reverse
its decision.
It was one insult too many for Tommy. Angry at having to find
excuses to explain to his friends at Duke Street why it had taken him
so long to wear his Croix de Guerre (his usual pretext was that it '
was on his other uniform), he was determined not to let them know
that he was having even greater problems with his ME. His solution j
was vintage Tommy, j
Whenever he was in Dorset Square he wore a tunic with only the j
Croix de Guerre on it. Whenever he visited Duke Street (which was f
several times a day) he changed into a spare tunic, on which Barbara
had sewn both decorations. It was a delicate operation because if
Hutchison caught him in flagrante delicto, he would have no alternative
but to order him to remove the ME.
Tommy had repeatedly told Kay that he couldn't wait to return toj
the peace and quiet of occupied France.*
* It was almost a year before his ME was officially sanctioned.
312
I thanked Kay for her contra-account, and was reading the last
W pages of The Jakarta Tales in a desperate attempt to become
oor-minded when I heard my favourite footsteps. Tommy hurried
wearing a tunic with the Croix de Guerre on it. He was carrying
briefcase and a parcel.
Stripping off his authorized tunic, he removed his Duke Street
fsion from the parcel and quickly put it on. 'Malpractice makes
rfect,' he muttered, followed by a string of French imprecations.
s said that his normal changing room, the bog in Dorset Square,
is occupied, probably by Hutch to judge from the noises, and that
i next best safe-house was my office. Could he leave his tunic with
? for the next few hours?
I promised not to use it as an ashtray, except in emergencies.
plancing at my desk, which was fortunately devoid of de Gaulle's
$cet messages, he said he was delighted to learn from Kay that I'd
ipped playing silly buggers with Valois. He then demanded to be
K what I had against the Free French using their own code for
&r political messages.
1'hesitated, always a mistake with Tommy, and he looked at me
||ply. 'They send us the clear-texts so what's all the fuss about?'
JUthough it was more distasteful to prevaricate with Tommy than
(e anyone else in Baker Street, including myself, I hastily explained
|I had no idea what code the Free French were using.
frshould bloody well hope not. A deal's a deal.'
; softened slightly. 'What's worrying you? Perhaps I can help.'
Imost told him the truth, but MCs and Croix de Guerre are
'won by almosts, and I was no candidate for either. I said that
Ig to memorize two coding systems was clearly overloading the
S because they sent so many indecipherables in their secret code.
ley've not sent a single one since I've been back. And, now I
|;to think of it, I don't remember any for the last six months.'
l-'now I come to think of it' worried me.
»s essential to change the subject before he put two and two
sr and came up with a Marks.
scurious about his latest code-name, and asked how he'd come
ailed the White Rabbit. 'I work for a fucking mad hatter's tea
|he said. 'Can you think of a better reason?'
313
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Without waiting for a reply, he pointed to a pile of WOKs on the
desk. 'I'll be needing one of those before much longer. Why not give
it to me now so I can get used to carrying it?'
He hurried off, suitably attired, to his appointment in Duke Street.
I sensed an anger in him which had nothing to do with his decorations
and was worried by his impatience to return to France.
My intercom buzzed twice, a warning from Muriel that it was
perilously close to Noor-time.
Even in SOE it simply wasn't done to keep a princess waiting.
314
FORTY
The Extended Briefing
%e Jakarta Tales contained twenty stories of Buddha's former birth.
I read each story twice, and knew one of them by heart.
It concerned a monkey who ruled over 80,000 other monkeys, and
so loved them so much that he allowed them to use his body as a
y so that they could cross it safely to avoid being shot by wicked
Brahmadatta, who coveted their mangoes. But one of the
ceys jumped on him too heavily and broke his back, and as he
ying wicked King Brahmadatta stood beside him.
fpu have given your life to save your followers,' he said. 'Who
you, blessed one? And who are they?'
|> King,' replied the dying monkey, 'I am their chief and their
(e. They lived with me in this tree and I was their father and I
id them. I do not suffer in leaving this world because I have gained
Subjects' freedom. And if my death may be a lesson to you, then
JUnore than happy. It is not your sword which makes you a king;
jteve alone.'
|td Brahmadatta ruled with love over his people and they were
|y ever after.
JNoor. What the hell are you doing in SOE?
ged to be able to walk into a briefing room and switch on
|tached receptivity with which an analyst treats his patients -
|Uly those who've paid his fees in advance.
| as soon as I glimpsed the slender figure seated at a desk in the
ai Court briefing room I knew that the only thing likely to be
sd was one (if not both) of my eyeballs. No one had mentioned
extraordinary beauty.
315
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
I invited Her Highness to compose a message at least 250 letters
long and encode it for transmission.
'Right.'
As if she'd been waiting all her life to obey this command she wrote
out a message in French, but as soon as she'd finished it she spent
five minutes changing it. She then contemplated the result with the
special smile of a satisfied creator. I suspected that she'd written
another Jakarta tale and had forgotten that she was supposed to
encode it.
As gently as I could I reminded her that London was on the air
and would like to receive her message.
She apologized profusely and produced her poem-code from her
handbag. It was in French, and in answer to my question she said
she'd written it herself. (If only other agents would copy her example,
at least in this - but most of them insisted on using poems which
they'd learned at school.)
She chose five words, and made a note of the indicator-group. She
took a little time to recover from this effort, and I had a feeling that
she'd left the room. Returning suddenly from a better place, she
glanced shyly at the nearby lecher and began numbering her keyphrase
as if she were a small child trying to prove that she could
count to ten.
Without any warning she changed gear and completed her first
transposition more rapidly than any agent I'd briefed. Apparently
believing that the job was now finished, she picked up the sheet of
paper on which she'd written her clear-text and became absorbed in
re-reading it. She even altered a word but made no attempt to correct
what she'd so far encoded. Finally satisfied that it was ready for
publication, she looked up at me as if wondering what came next.
She was astonished when I pointed out that the encoding was only
half-finished.
Apologizing profusely, she dug the pencil (and me) into the paper,
and finished transposing the message in under ten minutes (an inhouse record). Looking at the code-groups as if wondering where
they'd come from, she submitted her message for official approval.
I asked her to decode it herself.
Twenty minutes later she was still trying.
316
sliking cruelty to children with the fervour of one who's never
subjected to it, I picked up her work-sheets and started to examlem.
Princess Einar Skinnarland had indeed set a record: she'd
d two columns, made a mistake in her indicator-group, and
limbered her transposition-key.
it as close to her as I dared, and took her through her encoding
5y line. There was no response from her. I glanced up to make
she was still there, and saw that she was nearly in tears, which
: two of us.
au've made fewer mistakes than most,' I said, 'but those you
made are very inventive.'
is seemed to please her. But I knew that a wrong note now
d lose the battle of the briefing.
aded messages have one thing in common with monkeys,' I said.
>u jump too hard on them you'll break their backs - and that's
you've done to this one. I doubt if Brahmadatta himself could
her it, I know my monkeys in the code room couldn't.'
iidn't seem possible but her eyes grew larger. 'You've read my
?'
e intensity of her look reduced me to chutney. 'Yes. And I greatly
'ed it. It also taught me a lot.'
hat?'
ointed to the indicator-group and took a calculated risk. 'You've
me a lie, Noor - and you've made the code tell a lie.'
new I'd used a loaded word but wasn't prepared for the loaded
•» who sprang to her feet to confront her vilifier. 'I've what?'
iven the wrong indicator-group. What else is that but a lie?'
fadn't thought of it like that - really I hadn't.'
raited for her to sit down, then I made her look at each of her
ikes before lotting them up like a waiter with the bill. 'That
I a total of six lies and one half-truth. We'd have to try 100,000
11'ts before Colonel Buckmaster could read this message - and
hey mightn't be enough.'
dd barely hear her whispered 'Oh no'.
s time to produce the only lifeline I could offer her: 'I believe
arta Tales could help you to become a very good coder.'
oked at me in astonishment. 'How?'
317
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'Every time you encode a message think of the letters in it as
monkeys trying to cross a bridge between Paris and London. If they fall off, they'll be caught and shot ... but they can't cross by themselves,
and if you don't help them by guiding them slowly and methodically,
one step at a time, giving them all your thoughts and all
your protection, they'll never reach the other side. When there's a
truth to pass on, don't let your code tell lies.'
'May I try again, please?'
She encoded a new message at half her previous speed (but still
more quickly than most), and copied out the code-groups carefully.
But before surrendering them to me she closed her eyes and ran her
fingers across them as if searching for injuries. Without being asked,
she encoded another message, again running her fingers across the
code-groups before giving them to me. Both messages were perfect,
and she knew it before I said so.
'Thank you, thank you - but will it be all right if I think about
pigs sometimes?' (One of her stories was about two piglets named
Mahatundila and Cullatindila.)
I wondered if she'd asked my permission to introduce piglets
because she sensed I was Jewish. 'You must do whatever helps you
to cross that bridge - but Noor, will you be able to keep it up?'
'Mr Marks, I promise you I will.' It was the promise of an adult.
But her maturity was about to be tested to the full.
'We must discuss your security checks.'
'May I ask you something first?'
'Of course.'
'What do you want to do when the war is over?'
This was extending the briefing to its outer limits but Sufi Marks
owed her the truth. 'Write a play.'
'What about?'
'A girl who can't laugh.'
She wanted to know why she couldn't, what had been done to help her, and what the story was - the kind of questions authors indulge
in when they don't envy one another's royalties.
Like all shy people she mistook hesitancy for reticence. 'Don't you
want to tell me? - or shouldn't I have asked?' ;
I was afraid of disappointing her. 'She hasn't laughed since snej
318
ive, and she's now eighteen. Her parents have taken her to every
w, psychiatrist and comedian in the country but she still can't
i. Then one day she looks out of the window and sees a dirty
ramp, and bursts out laughing. They bring him into the house the finds him even funnier. They persuade him to stay, but the
hing he won't stand for is being laughed at.
owever, he's no ordinary tramp, and he's determined to find out
: stopped her from laughing. And when he discovers what somelid
to her she's cured. And that's when she sees him as he really
i dirty old tramp. And he has to leave her.' 's very sad. And very funny. I suppose he leaves without letting
now how much she owes to him?' hat Sufi instinct told her that? e doesn't think she owes him anything.'
oes it have a title?'
hadn't until then. But her expression supplied it. 'It's called The
Who Couldn't Quite':*
rts of people will come and see it, including me - if I can.' ;r ability to do so might depend on the next few minutes.
curity checks, Noor.'
n still wondering what stopped her from laughing. Sorry, security
cs.' She returned reluctantly to less important business.
te all agents using the poem-code, she had a 'bluff check which
yas allowed to disclose to the enemy, and a 'true' check which Supposed to be known only to London. The only circumstance
rich the checks had any value was if the agent were caught before ng any messages, as the enemy had no back traffic to refer to.
Mtfae situation in France worsening daily this could well happen
BOr.
Ipoduced at St Martin's Theatre in 1948. Despite its press, it ran in the West End
|*al months. One benevolent reviewer, C.A. Darlington likened its climax to The y the Screw. The others screwed it altogether, though a few were kind enough to ^that the author try again. Possibly because of its suggestive title and its small cast
jjew other merits), it became an even greater success than Charley's Aunt in repertory giteur companies. It was then inflicted on Australia and South Africa, who in those done nothing to deserve it. It still lingers on, as does this meeting with Noor, r years later.
319
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I glanced again at her work-sheet. She'd used her checks correctly
but might not have realized that she had to lie about them.
'Lie about them?' she echoed. 'Why should I do that?'
'Because if you tell them what your "true" check is they'll pretend
that their messages are coming from you, and we shan't know that
you've been caught. That's why you must lie to them.'
'To stop them lying to you?'
'Yes.'
'But there's a better way. Suppose that I refused to tell them anything
at all - no matter how often they ask?' It was a statement of intent.
I remembered how she'd ended her tale of the dying monkey: 'I do
not suffer in leaving this world because I have gained my subjects'
freedom. And if my death may be a lesson to you then I am more
than happy.'
She'd let her back be broken rather than tell a lie.
'Noor, we've got to find a way round this . . .' I struggled desperately
to think of one, and the dying monkey warned me that there
was very little time.
'I'm going to give you a security check that's completely new, and
you won't have to lie about it because no one but you and me will
know that it exists.'
It had only just been born and I suspected that she sensed it.
'All you have to do is remember one thing. Never use a key-phrase
with eighteen letters in it - any other number but not eighteen. If you
use eighteen, I'll know you've been caught.'
'Eighteen's my lucky number. Yes, I could do that. and I promise
you not to forget it. I promise you, Mr Marks.'
But her father had a twenty-year start on me, and I wasn't taking
any chances. 'I want you to encode three messages at least two hundred
letters long and have them ready for me at twelve o'clock
tomorrow.'
'Right.'
'Include your true and bluff checks but remember-'
'I mustn't use a key-phrase eighteen letters long.'
'See you tomorrow then.'
She was reaching for her pencil as I left.
» » »
320
THE EXTENDED BRIEFING
yed or my equivalent - went without a cigar - that she'd repeat
er old mistakes, and that I could write a bad report on her to
ait her from going in.
e'd encoded six new messages, and every one of her monkeys
crossed the bridge safely, including her security checks.
isked how she'd let me know if she were caught.
e immediately numbered a key-phrase eighteen letters long, and
led it to me proudly.
i 10 June I sent Buckmaster the report that he needed,
i the night of 16 June Noor boarded a Lysander, and in the early
s of the 17th landed in France.
i 21 June Maurice telephoned me. He thought I'd like to know
she'd left the Loire valley and had arrived in Paris. He wasn't
when she'd be able to start transmitting but hoped it would be
. Throughout the conversation he referred to her by her field-
i, Madeleine.
6 might be known as such to F section, to her fellow-agents and
e Germans. But to me she was, and would always remain, the
Who Couldn't Quite.
321
FORTY-ONE
Operation Gift-horse
In a disorganization like SOE, where a single mistake could cost an agent's life, all new ideas needed a cooling-off period, and Gift-horse
had been confined to its stall for over a week.
Feeling sufficiently distanced from it, I took it from its paddock
for a health check, confident that anything so innovative that had
been conceived so painlessly would end in the confidential waste.
Finding no flaw in it, which was extremely disturbing, I decided to
submit it to Nick and Heffer for a dispassionate briefing. The Gurus
would know instinctively whether Gift-horse was a turning point or
a non-starter, which was what made them gurus.
At first the deception scheme amused them and they called it
'bloody sauce'. But when they realized that it was a serious attempt
to confuse WOKs with poem-codes and waste the time of the enemy's
cryptographers they found the sauce very much to their liking. They
warned me not to overdo it, added a few kind words about its ingenuity,
and prepared to resume more important business.
But they weren't rid of me yet.
I wasn't prepared to launch Gift-horse until I had the answer to a
question which had been troubling me for months. I wanted to know
what had gone wrong with Germany's cryptographers.
Having been taught by Father (who was also my boxing instructor)
never to underestimate the opposition, I was convinced that the
enemy's Tiltmans were as brilliant as their Bletchley counterparts.
But if they were, why had we been allowed to blow up the Norsk jj
Hydro, expand our Secret Armies, and earn ourselves a mandate froffl jl
the Chiefs of Staff?
322
OPERATION GIFT-HORSE
It couldn't be due to the quality of our Signals. Our traffic was isy to intercept, and the poem-code even easier to break. So why
ere we still in business, and on the point of expanding in all
irections?
I sought enlightenment from Nick, and to my surprise he was
blighted to provide it.
Speaking with all the authority of a Signals lifetime, he declared tat our traffic hadn't been penetrated 'to a significant extent' because (e enemy's cryptographers had been forced to concentrate on more ftportant commitments. He cited as examples America's entry into
tie war, the Allied invasion of North Africa (Torch), and the Russian
tunter-attack at Stalingrad (surely the most effective eviction notice
|fer served on an invader).
at there were other reasons why we'd been allowed to get away l the 'cock-up of a code' we'd inherited from C.
ccording to 'a reliable source' (Tiltman himself ?), for the past eighmonths
German cryptographers had been unable to function at
r best because of high-level interference of a kind which Bletchley
ply wouldn't tolerate.' Although stretched to their limits by miliJjSf, diplomatic and Intelligence intercepts, they were under orders
tt Hitler to break the traffic of his Japanese and Italian Allies, and
r that hell hath no fury like a Fiihrer kept waiting. They also had
mour Goering, Goebbels and Himmler, whose relationships were >arable to ours with C, and who insisted on reading each other's
ages. As a result of these and other pressures, SOE's traffic had it given little or no priority, and was usually attacked at local level "oups of German sergeants with a flair for cryptography.
SWever, our involvement with D-Day put us in an altogether at category. He was absolutely certain that SOE's traffic would
»e upgraded, and if Gift-horse could make it more trouble than
worth and waste their 'bloody time', it might even help the fort generally, and I must push ahead with it. 'Your attitude's
e power to its hoof.' added Heffer.
lost neighed with relief.
the responsibility hit me.
a- a- »
323
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
In the absence of any advice about Gift-horse except 'don't overdo
it', I reviewed the entire concept as if C had suggested it. That way
I knew I'd be taking no chances.
The success of Gift-horse depended on a fact of cipher life on which
I'd stake my own as I'd learned it from Tiltman. Even his experienced
eye couldn't tell whether a message had been encoded in a WOK or
a poem-code as both were the product of double-transposition.
Every WOK-message began with a five-letter group to show which
pair of worked-out keys had been used. Every poem-code message
began with a five-letter indicator-group to show which five words of
the poem had been used. These indicator-groups were the quickest
way of ending a poem-code's life if the agents used the same ones
for different messages. And if the messages were of equal length (as
they frequently were) a novice could break them in a matter of hours.
I'd done so myself at Bedford. (And once broken, the five words of
the poem could be reconstructed, and if they were part of a famous
quotation, the rest of the traffic would be read automatically.)
But WOK-traffic offered no such facilities. Every key was made
by hand, and no two were the same.
The ETs (enemy's Tiltmans) couldn't tell which system was in use,
and it was up to us to point them in the wrong direction. To achieve
this, we would sprinkle WOK-traffic with repeated indicator-groups,
as if the agent were using a poem-code and had chosen the same
five words of his poem for different messages, though the keys were
completely unrelated.
This apparent duplication would stimulate the ETs' cryptographic
taste buds for a meal which wasn't on the menu. And if by some
lucky chance these repeated indicators were used on messages of
identical length, the temptation to take appropriate action would be
as hard to resist as a lady casually declaring that she'd forgotten to
put on her knickers (an experience with which I was familiar only
from hearsay).
I collected twenty sets of WOK-keys from the counter-shufflers,
took them to my office, and inserted 200 duplicated indicators.
Three hours later they were on their way to the printers, and would
soon be ready to lie with silken tongues.
It was a puny enough attempt to take the code war to the enemy,
324
OPEBATIOIT GIFT-HOKSB
might never know if it achieved its objective, but it had one
msation: lacking the courage to take the slightest risk unless it
trictly mental, I imagined myself mounted on a charger leading
de-groups to the heart of Berlin.
ret I had to write the history of agents' ciphers, I resolved that
orse would have a chapter to itself.
325
FORTY-TWO
A Terrible Gaffe
By the end of June six "WOKs had opened up in France, two in
Norway, and eighteen others (seven of them Gift-horsed) had been
issued to agents waiting to be dropped.
But the elation was negated by the worst breach of security any
country section had yet committed.
It concerned Archambault (real name Gilbert Norman), who'd been
dropped into France by F section in November '42 to transmit and
receive traffic for the Prosper circuit and to act as deputy to Prosper
himself. The twenty-seven-year-old Englishman hadn't made a single
mistake at his final code-briefing (not always a good sign), but turned
out to be one of those rare agents who encoded even better in the
field than they did in practice, sending only three indecipherables in
eight months' traffic and inserting his true and bluff checks in every
message.
But on 27 June he sent a message with his true check omitted. I
told Buckmaster that I was examining all Archambault's messages to
make certain that he hadn't done this before, and was checking the
original decodings in case any of the girls had made a mistake.
Giving me no hint of his intentions, Maurice immediately informed
Archambault that he'd forgotten to insert his true check in
his last message, and accused him of committing 'a serious breach of
security which must not, repeat must not be allowed to happen
again!'
Nor must blunders of this magnitude, though we'd done out damnedest,
repeat our damnedest, to prevent them.
While Nick was still a new boy I'd shown him six messages about
signals which country sections had sent to agents without consulting
326
my of us (including N section's to Trumpet concerning missing securty checks).
He'd immediately issued a directive to all country section heads
copy to Gubbins) instructing them not to refer to codes, signal-plans >r any matters relating to WT security without first consulting him ys a member of his directorate. He'd then ordered me to bring any Suture lapses to his immediate attention so that he could report the
Sulprits to Gubbins.
.; Reluctant to subject anyone I liked to the ultimate deterrent, I said tothing to Nick, and spoke to Maurice myself.
s,?He accepted full responsibility for a 'terrible gaffe', and assured
(ie it wouldn't happen again. He then asked if I thought Archambault ^ad been caught.
11 promised him my answer within an hour. »;Archambault's back traffic confirmed that he'd always used his
gae check, and that he hadn't made a single mistake in his coding US three indecipherables were due to Morse mutilation), but I needed Kittle longer with his traffic because several things puzzled me.
HAssuming he was in enemy hands (he'd convinced me that he was),
rhad they allowed him to leave out his true check? Was it because t didn't want him to be late for his sked, but hadn't had time to
I his back traffic and work out what his checks really were? Or was Seause they might have had difficulty in identifying his messages as
I.used four different prefixes, and they hadn't had time to collate ft?
fetther explanation satisfied me as it reflected on their efficiency, Syhich I still had the utmost respect, but this didn't change my Iriction that Archambault was in their hands.
lavas the first time that I'd been able to reach a definitive con8»n
from a poem-code's security checks, and I called at Maurice's t in case he had any questions.
1 contrite from his gaffe, he said he'd reached the same con10, but intended to continue sending messages to Archambault (hope of prolonging his life.
was brilliant at doing this (he'd had plenty of practice), and I i to get on with it.
» » »
327
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Thinking about captured agents had become a June preoccupation.
RF section had lost one of its giants a fortnight ago and the shock
had yet to wear off (for some it never would). His name was Jean
Moulin, and I'd heard so much about him from Tommy that I felt
as if we'd met.
I had in fact caught a glimpse of the great Moulin when I'd called
at Duke Street a few months ago to deliver overdue prefixes for the
accursed French code. He'd been picked up by Lysander the previous
night, and was striding side by side with Tommy towards Passy's
office.
At first glance (there wasn't to be a second) the two agents could
have been mistaken for brothers (which in all essential respects
they were). Both in their early forties, they had the same chunky
build, the same purposeful stride, the same aura of limitless
chutzpah.
The main difference was that Moulin was already a legend. In an organization like ours reputations like his were hard to acquire, and
recalling a few of his achievements was as close as I could get to a
memorial service.
In 1940, the Vichy government dismissed him from his post for
being anti-German and he became a freelance partisan, forming three
separate Resistance groups in Vichy-controlled France.
Having achieved more without SOE's help than most freedom
fighters with it, he decided that his only chance of getting arms,
supplies and working capital would be to join forces with one of
London's Big Battalions, and he escaped to England via Lisbon in
1941 to make a first-hand assessment of the relative merits of SOE
and Duke Street.
His arrival in London was the start of a Dutch auction (without
Giskes, thank God) between de Gaulle and Buckmaster, who interviewed
him personally, each determined to recruit him on the spot.
But in reality it was Moulin who interviewed them, and he kept them
in suspense for several weeks before announcing his decision (he was
an experienced politician). To Duke Street's delight he finally opted
to join de Gaulle, who at once appointed him his personal representative
in France (it takes a natural leader to know one). He was also
appointed delegate-general to the Free French Committee, and at
328
'onuny's suggestion was code-named Rex in London and Max in
|»e field.
Armed with excellent credentials but very little else, Rex/Max was [topped blind into France on 1 January '42 and landed in a ditch. fc then faced the even greater quagmire of persuading the leaders f mutually antagonistic Resistance groups to unite under de Gaulle, ad three weeks later reported to Duke Street that he'd had a 100 tr cent success rate and was hoping to improve it.
>In February he was joined by Passy, Brossolette and Tommy (the
yquebus mission) and numerous policy differences emerged which rid not been apparent in Duke Street. Putting unity above all, he
Itmed the MUR (Mouvement Uni de la Resistance), and continued (tiding his compatriots into the nucleus of a Secret Army until his
|(est near Lyons on 20 June. (On the day Buckmaster heard of $oulin's capture he commiserated with his rival Jim Hutchison on
lie-loss of 'one of the most valuable agents in the whole of France'.)
l&ut memories of giants seldom came sequentially, and I also knew
|at in 1940 he'd been severely tortured by the Germans for refusing
|sign a document which falsely accused the French of committing
cities. When they finally released him, he tried to commit suicide Bar that he'd weaken if they tortured him again, and as a result
is self-inflicted injuries he was left with a badly scarred throat
husky voice and rarely appeared in public without a scarf or Sler (he was wearing both when I glimpsed him in Duke Street).
|(pw he was in their hands again.
liwas wondering whether his capture would give Tommy yet ^er reason for returning to France when he put his head round loor and asked if he were disturbing me. 0 more than usual.'
? advanced towards me while I pressed the buzzer for sandwiches eoffee, which Muriel produced within seconds. ^congratulated her on running a first-class hotel, despite its pror,
then slumped into a chair and announced that the personnel hnent was an absolute disgrace. There's not a person in it who
ill his pass from his elbow.'
|Spent the next few minutes suggesting imaginative remedies but ?tell me what they'd done to upset him, and I knew that he was
329
I
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
venting his distress at the loss of Moulin. (To call it distress was as
great an understatement as describing Moulin as a dedicated patriot
or a hanged man as being out of breath.)
Speaking in a voice as husky as Rex/Max's, he said that Moulin
wouldn't break no matter what they did to him, and was certain
to be executed before much longer."' He then contrasted Moulin's
achievements as a recruiting officer in occupied Prance with the personnel
department's disastrous attempts to staff preoccupied Baker
Street. 'I can find only one thing in the bastards' favour. They give jobs
to large numbers of people who'd do even more damage elsewhere.'
He suddenly switched his attack to the Signals directorate.'... and
you people let the bastards get away with it.' He cited as examples
two new arrivals at the HQ Signals Office who treated every enquiry
as if it were an intrusion on their privacy, and were more interested
in distributing lipstick than messages.
I didn't tell him that the Signals directorate was responsible for its
own recruitment, and we'd picked the two horrors ourselves. (I'd
already taken steps to have them transferred, hopefully to C, from
whence they probably came.)
He left shortly afterwards without realizing (though one could
never be sure with him) that he'd touched on a problem which was
causing the Signals directorate even more trouble than C and the
Germans: the problem of keeping pace with SOE's expansion.
Agents' traffic, which had doubled since the Chiefs of Staff's mandate,
was expected to reach a million groups a week in the run-up
to D-Day, and SOE took it for granted that we'd have the resources
to deal with it. SOE also took it for granted that we could continue
to send fully trained coders, WT operators and briefing officers to Massingham, Cairo and the Far East. No matter how often we protested
that we were so short-staffed ourselves that we were in difficulties
with the daily traffic, we were expected to maintain the standards SOE hadn't wanted in the first place.
By the end of June the Signals directorate was the largest in SOB,J and the code department the largest in the Signals directorate, and l^
* He was beaten to death three weeks later on the orders of Klaus Barbie.
330
A TERRIBLE GAFFE
ras under orders from Nick to ensure that every branch had an
iequate intake of new 'bodies'.
I relied on the FANYs for coders, on the personnel department >r WOK-makers, and on God for briefing officers. Anxious not to
yerload the Almighty (his blessing on LOPs was urgently required),
also relied on both the FANYs and the personnel department for
riefing Officers, whom I collected as if they were rare first editions. Fhe ones I most coveted had to be in mint mental condition, prefer- My with their bindings intact.)
But other organizations were also scouring the market for incipient ide-mindedness. Bletchley and C were constantly head-hunting, had op Priority and were expert scavengers. We were also up against
Ie Foreign Office and the Signals units of the armed forces.
ISince competing with the opposition by orthodox means was get- bg us nowhere, I contacted two of SOE's most formidable ladies,
(tss Furze and Captain Henderson, to discuss alternative measures.
|ss Furze's function was to recruit female civilians for the whole of |cer Street, Captain Henderson's to supply the Signals directorate's
|lNYs. Although I was aware that both empresses preferred to be
ted, I invited them to meet me in my office, and was amazed when ^accepted.
ly first step was to show them a pile of indecipherables waiting
»e broken, a heap of WOKs waiting to be collated, and a long
| of agents waiting to be briefed. I then asked them what they could Mo strengthen our depleted workforce.
piss Furze's expression said 'Fuck all', and Captain Henderson's
pnned it.
jpushed the exhibits aside and waited for the worst. iss Furze reminded me that the staff she provided 'didn't grow sees', though I allowed them to walk about looking as they did.
r came from the Ministry of Labour and National Service, which Hen badly behind in its quota because of the huge demand for
i to replace men.
am Henderson added that FANY recruitment had fallen off ich the same reasons, and because of competition from the ; and the WRNS (the Women's Auxiliary Air Force and the a's Royal Naval Service).
331
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
They then looked at each other sympathetically, and took it in
turns to emphasize that they couldn't see any prospect of the situation
improving.
According them the deference due to experts, I suggested that the
real reason why so few girls were coming our way was that the
officials who interviewed them hadn't the slightest idea how to detect
incipient code-mindedness.
Two explosions occurred in the immediate vicinity, one from anger
the other from natural causes.
Thundering from all points. Miss Furze accused me of being partly
responsible for the shortage of applicants.
'But what have I done?' I asked in a rare burst of genuine innocence.
'It's what you haven't done,' she snapped. Waving an umbrella at
me (on all too close inspection it turned out to be a finger), she
pointed out that she'd twice asked me for a written analysis of the
qualities I was looking for so that she could send a copy of it to the
ministry but she might just as well have saved her breath. She also
pointed out that I'd rejected fifteen of the candidates she'd sent me
but hadn't troubled to explain why.
Captain Henderson then joined in the indictment, stressing that
I'd turned down twenty FANYs without giving her my reasons, and
still hadn't listed the attributes her interviewers should look out
for.
The truth was, I didn't know myself.
I was wary of saying that if a girl admitted she loved music and
crossword puzzles but was hopeless at arithmetic we could usually
repair the damage a maths teacher had done, and turn her into a
coder. They'd simply ask new candidates, 'Do you like music and
crossword puzzles and are you bad at arithmetic?' and leave it at
that. Nor did I relish the tedium of explaining how to measure a
potential WOK-maker's threshold of boredom. I also shirked trying
to define the instinct which said, 'This girl can do it.'
I promised to deliver a summary by the end of the week.
'Which week?' Miss Furze enquired sweetly.
The empresses then departed, leaving me no closer to the thousands
of young hopefuls queuing round the country for a chance to help
the war effort.
m
>etermined to get our fair share of them, I sent the Ministry of
'our an aide-memoire: 'Do not reject any girl on grounds of
inity without first offering her to SOE.'
'he memo backfired.
'he ministry sent a copy of it to Air Commodore Boyle (head of
personnel board), who passed it to Commander Senter (head of
irity), who instructed me to report to him at once.
randishing my memo as if it were scorching his fingers, he
irmed me that no one in his right mind would make any reference
SOE on a sheet of notepaper headed inter services
;earch bureau, thereby blowing Baker Street's cover! I'd comted
a major breach of security.
apologized for my terrible gaffe, and assured him that it wouldn't
pen again (I'd use toilet paper next time).
Fhat isn't all!' he thundered. He then castigated me for daring to
imunicate with the ministry 'without the prior knowledge and
sent' of the personnel department, and warned me that I hadn't
rd the last of it.
>n my way out I had just enough sense not to head-hunt his
etary.
lough June and I were on the point of expiring, I came to life
sn Nick asked me to discuss the month's production figures with
as his continued support for WOKs and LOPs was their lifeline.
3ok me several hours to prepare them, and Muriel stayed past
Snight to type them, but they were waiting on his desk when he
ved next morning.
en minutes later he sent for me.
Still didn't know if my gaffe had been reported to him, but nothing
fe manner suggested that I was anything less than welcome.
|be figures showed that we were ahead of schedule and had
Biased our reserves of silks by 100 a week. He said that, consider|the
difficulties, we were making excellent progress, and he
ded to show the figures to Gubbins. He then asked if I foresaw
ffoblems in July.
My. - and they're all to do with recruitment. We need more
, more briefing officers, more WOK-makers . . .'
333
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
To my surprise, he closed his eyes the better to concentrate. 'I've
an idea,' he said, as if it were a new experience.
I waited expectantly.
'SOE must instruct the ministry not to reject any girl on grounds
of insanity if she's prepared to cut away and destroy Mr Marks.'
There was nothing left of me to cut away. I'd been given an object
lesson in how to deal with subordinates.
Nick added that the only reason I hadn't got myself into very serious
trouble was that my memo had amused Gubbins. He then said that the
whole question of finding staff for the Signals directorate was now
being looked into by the Executive Council, but under no circumstances
must I dispatch any similar memos without consulting him first,
Wondering what mistakes I'd make next, and whether I had the
resources to stay in SOE, and why I was suddenly depressed, depleted
and devoid of all confidence, I returned to my desk and sought refuge
in the ditty-box:
There is a strength
Beyond the one that is failing
An added length
To the time
Now run out
There is sight
In the eyes now closing
A light
Which none others can see
And it guides unbelievers
And other self-deceivers
To a place
Where they had never thought to be.*
I then began describing the qualities which distinguished
from briefing officers, and WOK-makers from the rest of mar
* Used by a Jedburgh on D-Day.
334
FORTY-THREE
Operation Sidetrack
began with the most disconcerting of all experiences: SOE behavationally.
ras informed by Nick that no more Dutch agents were to be sent
the field for the next few months.
iffer was present at the meeting, which suggested that I'd
told the good news first, and that Nick felt in need of
ort.
; added that supply drops into Holland would continue, though <AF had cancelled their July ops. because of the losses they'd
red in the last moon periods.
i then announced that Gubbins had ordered an internal enquiry
Putch agents' security, and that I was to take part in it.
tter and better. So why was Heffer looking worried? ffk disclosed that the enquiry was to be conducted by a member
e security department named Harvey, who was anxious to know ^ about Kale's indecipherable in which 'Prijs' had been misspelt
»'. He then spelled out my part in the inquiry.
Iras to show Harvey how the poem-code worked, explain how jidecipherables had been broken, and answer whatever questions
l^ed about coding procedures. But that was all that was required
|~in the initial stages! Under no circumstances was I to refer to ^tch reports, mention Plan Giskes, or disclose any of my other
JBons. Harvey must have a chance to make up his own mind ^Holland without undue influence from anyone in Signals. He |pd that these instructions had come from Gubbins, and were
||Hien asked if I had any questions.
335
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'Only one, sir. Is this to be a genuine enquiry or an in-house
coverup?'
Heffer blew a number of smoke rings in my direction which I
suspected were the Apache equivalent of 'You stupid little shit' but it was Nick who scalped me.
Speaking very quietly (his deadliest tomahawk), he said that if I
couldn't do my job without questioning Gubbins's instructions or
SOE's policies then he might have to look for someone who could.
As for the enquiry, if I wasn't prepared to give Harvey a chance to
make up his own mind without trying to influence him from the
outset, then other arrangements would have to be made.
I didn't believe my job was seriously in jeopardy because C or
Bletchley might need a new office boy, and there were one or two
matters which SOE would prefer me not to discuss with them, but
this wasn't the moment to put it to the test. I assured Nick that I
would answer Harvey's questions as if he were a member of N section.
'Which is how you answer mine,' he said.
He then instructed me to report back to his office in two hours'
time 'in a suitable frame of mind'.
The in-house enquiry took place on the bite of 11 a.m., and I arrived
early carrying a bulging briefcase to show how seriously I'd prepared
for it.
Harvey was already there, and I realized that I'd met him before
in unfortunate circumstances.
I'd bumped into him (literally) in the security department's corridor
after being blasted by my godfather. Major O'Reilly, for being the
worst NDO in the history of SOE.
He shook hands as if taking my fingerprints, and said he knew ,
'next to nothing about codes', and would be grateful if I'd explain ^ the general principles before we got down to specifics at a later stage.
There were two ways of dealing with this. I could either spend all hour teaching him properly, or I could give him the simplified version! which I used on FANY candidates to test their potential. Decidin|Sj
on the latter, I showed him how to use his name as a key-phras
(which helped me to remember it), and explained the workings
the poem-code's gearbox.
336
At this point the good candidates asked questions about the
treas which I'd deliberately omitted, but this FANY's mind was
Dcused elsewhere. 'Is this the only code the Dutch agents are
ising?'
I replied that at present it was, though they sometimes used Playfair
o encode addresses, and I'd gladly show it to him but doubted if it
$ould have much relevance to his enquiries.
; He brusquely informed me that anything to do with addresses was
»f the utmost importance, and he'd like me to explain Playfair at a
ter stage. Would I now show him the Dutch agents' security checks?
, He absorbed them in silence, seemed surprised at their simplicity,
Hid asked if I had much faith in them.
Ij'None at all except in special circumstances, which is why the
thole system is being changed and silk codes introduced.'
| Frowning slightly, he said he'd want to discuss the security checks
^detail. 'But first I want you to tell me all you can about Kale's
lecipherable message when he spelled "Prijs" in the German way,
reis".'
I wondered whether he were setting a trap, and bumped into him
tin, this time verbally. 'If wasn't Kale who misspelt "Prijs". The
sssage was encoded by Cucumber in his reserve poem number
iee.'
^ could see that his surprise was genuine, and produced a copy of
•nber's poem from my portable warehouse so that he could
it for himself. I also handed him Cucumber's code-groups,
i I'd obtained from the station.
He examined them carefully, then asked how long it had taken us
break the message.
twelve hours.'
|tow many goes did you need?'
|ive thousand, six hundred and eighty-one.'
>d God.' He glanced at Nick and Heffer, who nodded confir-
i.
atever made you think of spelling "Prijs" "Preis"?' he finally
1 with a hint of respect.
jjj.Was suggested by two very bright colleagues, Mrs Denman and
l|Brewis. They're very helpful with indecipherables.'
337
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
He made a note of their names while I caught a twinkle from Nick
their favourite indecipherable.
Harvey looked up in time to spot the three of us smiling, and
seemed to sense a conspiracy. A few seconds later I had nothing to
smile about.
'Do you get many indecipherables?'
It was the question I'd been dreading but he'd phrased it carelessly.
He should have said 'from Holland', and its omission was a godsend
as it enabled me to give him a generalized answer.
'About fifteen a day. It depends on atmospheric conditions.' I wondered
what they were like in Giskes's prisons.
He then asked if I considered Cucumber a careless coder.
I was about to say that no Dutch agent was allowed to be, and
that this was one of Giskes's few mistakes, when Heffer puffed a
warning in my direction.
Heeding it in time, I said that Cucumber had sent five indecipherables
since he'd first begun operating in October '42.1 then produced
a list of the 4,000 attempts it had cost us to break them but didn't
add that they'd all been caused by Morse-mutilated indicator-groups
and not by mistakes in coding.
He studied the list as if it were a roll of honour, then emitted his
second 'Good God.' He was likely to need a third very shortly as I'd
prepared a major diversion for him.
Opening my briefcase, I said that the best way to judge a coder
like Cucumber was to examine the mistakes he'd made while he
was still at training school. I then produced every practice message
Cucumber had encoded, and dumped them in front of him. 'And
there's something else you should look at which may help you even
more.. .
I then produced a nautical log-book in Cucumber's handwriting
which his instructor had retained after I'd warned him what would
happen to his balls if he destroyed anything personal which might be
of use to us. My briefcase was now far lighter than my conscience.
I could have saved Harvey a great deal of work by summarizing my own examination of the messages and the log-book, but this would, j
have negated Operation Sidetrack. r
He protested that he'd need a 'bit of time' to examine them pr0';
338
eriy. Could he take them to his office and keep them for the next ;w days?
Ignoring Nick's nod, I said I was very sorry but we had our own scurity rules, and under no circumstances could documents like these
e allowed to leave the code department.
I decided that Heffer's new smoke ring meant 'bloody good tactics ut don't go too far', and asked Harvey if he spoke Dutch.
He nodded abruptly and I realized that I'd insulted him. Switching
a the brown-melter, I suggested that he should read the logbook ow and tackle the message later so that we could at least make a ^irt at discussing 'Prijs'/'Preis'.
yHe accepted the bait, but said he'd prefer to examine the lot here
Hd now if we didn't mind giving him a 'bit of time'.
JiJick told him to take as long as he needed, and not to hesitate to
any questions.
The Gurus then had a whispered conversation about Bodington
lither of them trusted him) while I thought about his admiration
|?the poems of Edgar Allan Poe, which I shared when he spelt them
pperly. I wondered what masterpiece of a horror story Poe would
Jte written if he'd witnessed SOE masturbating at its own cruciIpn,
and whether his prowess as a cryptographer would have
|fted him a place at Bletchley.
pll thinking about Poe, I felt the nudge of a theme which would liday be known as 'Peeping Tom', but dismissed it as surplus to
rments, and felt the ditty-box beckoning:
Little lady
With a long needle
Seldom threaded
Where is she headed?
Little lady
With a small box
Which she always locks
Why is she dreaded?
339
1
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
And why does she smile
When she orders
Cards with black borders?*
Harvey's bit of time turned out to be precisely that, and I wondered
how thorough he'd been. Ten seconds later he left me in no doubt.
Holding up a page of notes, he announced that he'd found eight
spelling mistakes in the practice messages and four in the logbook
including a word which Cucumber had spelt with an 'ij' on one page
and an 'ei' on another.
He then declared that unless there was something he'd overlooked
there couldn't be much doubt that 'Prijs'/'Preis' was no more than a
mistake, and that Cucumber was an even worse speller than he was.
There were in fact ten mistakes in the practice messages and six in the log-book, but it had taken me a lot longer than thirty minutes to find them and his concentration was to be envied.
Without the slightest warning or change of expression he asked if I had any reason to suspect that Kale and Cucumber had been caught,
or that any other Dutch agents were blown.
Making my last effort to bite back the truth, I heard myself telling
him I'd found it impossible to reach any reliable conclusions about
Kale and Cucumber from the Germanicized spelling of 'Preis', and
that there was little else in their traffic to go on. As for the other
agents, their security checks could be tortured out of them and weren't
reliable anyway, which was why we were introducing silk codes which
could be destroyed after every message, plus security checks which Nick
interrupted what had begun to sound like patter. 'I think our friend's got the point,' he interjected.
Our friend agreed that he had, and asked a few nebulous questions j which I answered in kind.
He then said he'd absorbed as much as he could for one session, and thanked me for 'all the stuff I'd prepared for him.
I assured him that I'd help him in any way I could.
He shook my hand before I could dry it, though he was probably
used to slippery customers. He looked back at me apologetically a*
* Issued in March '44 to a Belgian Agent named Pandarus.
340
OPERATION SIDETRACK
reached the door. 'I'd better warn you. I'll be coming back very
ytly.'
»o, I hoped, would my self-respect.
sw days after the meeting Nick was made a member of the Execu2
Council, with the rank of brigadier. He was the first director of
nals to acquire Cabinet status.
' didn't hear from Harvey again.
341
FORTY-FOUR
Beyond Belief
Giskes peaked in July.
Like all skilled fiction-writers from Graham Greene (whom SOE
tried to head-hunt) to chancellors of the Exchequer, he had the knack
of keeping his readers in suspense till the last chapter, and his handling
of Jambroes and Kale was an example of his art.
Both were commanders-in-chief of the Dutch Secret Army. The
former had agreed to return in November '42 after months of procrastination,
but had been 'killed in a street fight' on the day he was
ready to leave. The latter had been appointed his successor, and from
February onwards London had been urging him to return. But his
prevarications had been on a par with his predecessor's, and N section
had finally lost patience with him.
He was informed on 15 June that he must return in July, and that
details of his escape route would be sent to him via his operator,
Broadbean.
Kale received his instructions a week later, and they must have
taken his breath away, if Giskes hadn't already done so.
He was to make his way to Paris, where his escort would introduce
him to a group of French agents who would guide him across the French and Belgian escape lines until he reached the Swiss frontier,
and as soon as he'd crossed it London's contacts would do the rest.
This was the first time that SOE's escape lines had been put at the
disposal of the Dutch, an achievement for which Giskes deserved an iron cross with N section nailed to it.
Forty-eight hours later London received Kale's reply. He accepted
the plan in principle but continued to maintain that his commitments
to the Secret Army prevented him from leaving himself, and urged ^
342
SI section to allow Nicolas de Wilde, his second in command, to use
•he escape lines in his stead. He was also anxious for an important
;ontact named Anton to be smuggled out of Holland as he had
nformation which would be a great help to the government-in-exile
is well as to the British.
In a rare display of security-mindedness N section insisted in knowng
more about Anton before allowing him to use the escape lines,
md continued to insist that Kale must report in person; in the first
yeek in July he finally agreed.
; I offered to wager Heffer a box of cigars against an early book on
•himbles which his wife coveted (a pricey item, but 84 wouldn't miss
t) that Kale would find a last-minute excuse for staying in Holland.
|ut the Guru wasn't in a betting mood.
'On 9 July Kale sent a message via Broccoli suggesting that it would
ife much quicker if he made the journey in a sea-going lifeboat fitted
Kth the latest security devices which some friends in Zeeland had
t at his disposal. He added that Mangold would take command in
i absence.
)n 10 July N section agreed that he could travel by sea, but urged
l to take every possible precaution, and to send London full details
|fis departure.
Jwo days later he sent a message via Netball that he was leaving
Bnouth of the Schelde on the midnight high tide and would head
Broadstairs. His lifeboat was capable of doing seven knots in calm
Her, was painted grey and would show three flags. He estimated
| it would reach Broadstairs the following afternoon.
; Gubbins's instigation planes of Fighter Command patrolled the
h of the Schelde at high tide, and their controller reported that
Igh visibility was excellent no craft of any kind had been spotted.
Miaissance continued throughout the day and naval patrols were
i in but there was still no sign of a sea-going lifeboat.
il5 July Mangold sent a message via Netball that Kale had left
ttth of the river at high tide on the night of the 14th/15th.
r Command again sent out patrols but were unable to find
e of the lifeboat.
e 17th all searches for Kale were abandoned.
t July Netball sent a message which was the first of its kind
343
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
to pass through the code room. I was convinced it was personal from
him to me.
The message stated that Mangold had heard nothing from London
and was anxious to know if Kale had arrived safely, a persuasive
enough text.
But Giskes had made one of his rare mistakes: the message was
only eighty letters long.
I'd spent two and a half hours briefing Netball and knew the eyes
nose and broken teeth of his coding. He would never send a message
with less than 150 letters in it unless he were trying to tell London
he was caught.
I'd taken particular care with him because he was to carry a six
months' supply of poems to distribute to other agents, and because
he was dropping to a highly suspect reception committee organized
by Cucumber.
Convinced that he was going to be caught, I'd used him as a
messenger boy to persuade Giskes that London had no immediate
intentions of changing the poem-code.
I regarded his eighty letters as an SOS which he knew I'd pick up.
He'd also expect me to realize that Mangold had also been caught.
I took out my report on Netball's briefing and hurried in to Nick
with it.
Heffer was present, and they stopped their conversation as soon
as I entered, which I tried to interpret as a compliment. I showed
them Netball's message but they'd already seen it and found nothing
wrong with it.
I then handed them my report.
They studied it at length, and each other for even longer, and
something passed between them which was a generation away from
me. They agreed that it was an extraordinary lapse on Netball's parl,j
and might well have the significance I attached to it, but it wouldj
need careful consideration. |
I suggested that we should respond to Kale's message no
and ask N section to point out his mistake to him.
They again exchanged looks.
After a long pause Nick telephoned Bingham and asked
remind Netball at his next sked never to send less than 150 1
344
I made a final effort to stress that this wasn't a lapse on Netball's
?art but a brilliant way of warning us that he was caught, and sugsested
that Harvey should be informed of it.
Reddening, Nick put my report in his briefcase, and repeated that le'd discuss it with Gubbins.
; Just before Heffer and I went our occasionally separate ways, I
isked him what he thought the outcome of their discussion would
»e.
'I suspect you'll have a meeting with Gubbins.' As usual, he was
light.
ffl many ways mortal, Gubbins was unable to conceal his intense
ifttigue, but a single glance from him was still the equivalent of a
||ain-scan, and he subjected me to an exceptionally long one.
|1 sensed that I was going to be addressed as Marks and not Leo,
(d glanced at Nick to guess how much support I could expect. He
as sitting motionless, as if breathing through his ears.
|Now then. Marks . . .' Speaking at a rate of nots (thinking in
|tis helped to lessen his impact), he said that Netball's eighty-letter
|Ssage was disturbing but couldn't be regarded as conclusive proof to he was caught as there was another factor that could account
pit. '... and it's one that you constantly overlook . . .'
|ie then pointed out that no matter how carefully I briefed agents,
I he had no doubt that I did, they were under so much pressure
: field that they were likely to forget every word that I'd said to
, especially when they had to transmit urgent messages, and that
all's unusual mistake had probably been caused by exceptional m.
t, that's about as likely as Giskes offering to return Kale to
nd on the back of a whale.'
bbins brusquely informed me that my understanding of agents
trictly limited to teaching them codes, and Netball was a case ftt. I expected him to behave in the field as he did in the briefing
| a mistake which had caused me to overlook a vital question:
'all were blown, why had he been allowed to send only eighty '< If my theories about Giskes were right, the Germans knew
rity rules even better than we did. That being said, I was
345
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
right to have brought the message to Nick's attention but on no
account must I bring it to Harvey's. It was his job to establish facts and he mustn't be sidetracked by persuasive conjectures. '. .. is that
clear?'
'Absolutely, sir.'
It was even clearer that there was something behind all this and
that I was the one being sidetracked.
He then asked how many silk codes would be available by the
beginning of August.
Tour hundred WOKs and three hundred LOPs, sir.' He disliked
the word LOPs, and I hastily amended it to letter one-time pads.
'That may not be enough.' Glancing at Nick, he warned me to
expect demands for the new codes from 'unexpected quarters', and
urged me to concentrate on increasing production.
With a sudden twinkle, for which I'd have forgiven him anything
except living, he asked if I were still having problems finding suitable
women.
I assured him that the new intake had doubled, but we were always
on the lookout for promising talent. I didn't add that his secretary,
Margaret Jackson, had everything we sought for in a woman except
availability.
After repeating his warning not to sidetrack Harvey, he gave me
his customary nod of dismissal, but added a rider as I stood up to
go. 'You're doing a good job, Leo. But you'd do a damn sight better
one if you'd leave some things to other people . . .' ;|
'Thank you, sir.' |
I stormed into Heffer's office unannounced. 'Heff,' I said at my |
most deferential, 'what the fuck's going on in this abattoir?' 3
The Guru enjoyed dealing with technical questions. 'Do I take it.. you've been slaughtered?' y
I blurted out what I hadn't fully thought through, a mark of my.o respect for him. 'Something's going on in Holland that Gub and Nick^ don't want me to know about. If they can't trust me, they inuslj
bloody well start looking for a new head of Codes, and the sooneTj
the better. I mean it, Heff.'
He pointed to a chair, and a few smoke rings later he said that'l I promised under the Official Secrets Act called friendship not to
346
n down, he'd tell me the 'sorry tale' they didn't want me to know
out.
Thanks. But I don't care any more.'
Having children of his own, he appeared not to hear this. 'C is
ing to put us out of business.'
'Good luck to them,' I said, still smarting from not being trusted.
'But it's all to do with Holland.'
[ shook his hand for the first time since I'd known him.
Fhe 'sorry tale' emerged . . .
(Wards the end of June C had informed Gubbins that they'd distrered
from their own sources in Holland that eight of SOE's agents
| been arrested. But being expert mixers, they hadn't left it at that!
|y'd sent the information to the Dutch authorities in London in thope of shaking their already waning confidence in us. '. . . but 's nothing compared to what else the bastards have done.'
hey were using the information to convince the Chiefs of Staff
SOE was incapable of organizing an uprising in Holland or where else.
; then explained why Kale's disappearance was the biggest bonus
lid have had.
i Chiefs had been promised a chance to question Jambroes when urned to London, but Gubbins had had to tell them that he'd
|killed in a street fight just as he was leaving. They'd been waiting ^November to question his successor, and Gubbins had now had
pithem that Kale had also met with a 'fatal accident' at the last
|Bnt. Coming on top of C's news about the eight arrested agents, JChiefs had the slightest reason to suspect that the whole Dutch ace was in enemy hands, SOE could lose its mandate.'. . . and
ould be the end of our role on D-Day.'
aused to see what effect this was having.
d who the captured agents were.
tig at me blandly, he professed not to know. As he was under
ation to tell me anything, I pretended to believe him, and
| equally blandly for him to finish.
dded that no one had done more than Gubbins to secure our , and that the only reason he didn't want me to disclose my
347
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
anxieties to Harvey was that his report might be leaked to C, who'd
pass it on to the Chiefs of Staff.
And the sooner the better.
The Guru then pointed out that Gubbins and Nick had been
assessing security-mindedness for longer than I'd been born, and the
question of them not trusting me didn't arise. They had great confidence
in the way I ran the code department but somewhat less in
the way I ran myself! They knew bloody well that I was prone to
unpredictable responses, such as writing to the Ministry of Labour
and felt that the less I knew about C's skulduggery, the less likely I
was to send a protest to Winston Churchill. But as soon as the present
crisis was over, they'd brief me fully, and until that happy day I
couldn't really blame them for proceeding on a 'need to know' basis.
At this point the telephone rang. He lifted the receiver reluctantly,
and a few seconds later switched over to the scrambler.
His face growing greyer by the moment - a substantial achievement
- he listened for several seconds, then finally said 'Christ!' and
replaced the receiver. He lifted it again immediately, and asked to be
put through to Gubbins's office because he had an urgent message
for Nick.
I stood up to leave but he shook his head emphatically. I was all ears - a considerable improvement - as he informed Nick that there'd
been a development concerning Netball which he must know about at once.
Major Adams (the CO of 53b) had told him that Ken Howell (the
chief signalmaster) had been suspicious of Netball's operating since j
he'd begun transmitting two weeks ago, and at the end of today's j
sked he'd set a trap for him. I
Knowing that German wireless operators often signalled 'HH' (Heaj
Hitler) when they were about to sign off, he'd signalled 'HH' to Netbafl at the end of his sked, and Netball had replied 'HH' without a moment'Sj
hesitation. The speed of Netball's response had convinced Ken thalj
Netball's set was being operated by a German.
Adams was anxious to apologize to Nick for Howell's unauthor
action, for which he accepted responsibility.
I could hear Nick barking questions at him but couldn't tell i
Heffer's answers what he was asking, one of the Guru's outstan'
348
;omplishments. But it was his final response which interested me
>st.
Right!' he said. 'I'll make sure Marks knows, if he doesn't already,'
d replaced the receiver. 'So now you know.' he said. 'And you can
: back to work.'
Heil Howell.' I replied. And continued heiling him for the rest of
• day.
8ut that wasn't the end of SOE's indebtedness to the single-minded
nalmaster.
^ick went to the station on the 19th to listen to Netball's next
;d. He was accompanied by a civilian whom no one could identify
effer conjectured that 'he was a trusted colleage from Y'). Each of
•m carried 'split-cans' (radio sets which enabled them to listen to
rfi ends of the transmission simultaneously).
^etball was several minutes late for his sked (not significant) and
nailed 'qru' ('I have no traffic for London'). Howell replied 'qtc'
7e have a message for you'), and proceeded to transmit it (the
ssage warned Netball never to send less than 150 letters). Howell
ffl signalled 'HH', and Netball immediately replied 'HH'.
Right,' Nick was heard to say to his companion, 'that's it then.'
^ asked Heffer what he thought 'that's it' meant.
You're the cryptographer,' he said. 'You decipher it.'
fait understanding my peers was yesterday's dream. The only reality
Suld be sure of was that Heffer had put himself at risk for me.
• visited 84 when the shop was deserted, and the next day he was
e to present his wife with her book on thimbles.
3^
'k
^.
fcs
E-'
349
FORTY-FIVE
Parallel Action
Throughout July the traffic made clear (if confirmation were necessary)
that Holland wasn't our only nightmare. Every country section
had become a sea-going lifeboat which might not arrive.
The Prosper circuit had collapsed, and there'd been no further
news of Peter and Odette. And Buckmaster had developed an attitude
problem.
He accepted that Prosper had been caught but was trying to persuade
himself, his colleagues and me that Archambault was free.
Keeping his options open, he continued to exchange messages with
Archambault in the hope that he wouldn't be executed. But there
were limits to what he could say, and an idea for helping him had
occurred to me.
It would lend conviction to Maurice's messages if we dropped a
WOK to Archambault. The Germans were unlikely to suspect that
we thought he was blown if we sent him a silk with instructions in
its use, and urged him to cut it away and destroy it key by key, and
limit his messages to 100 letters.
We'd also give him new security checks, and explain that if he
changed his indicator-groups by his secret numbers the Germans
could never work them out if he'd destroyed his previous keys.
Unable to find any flaws in the concept (always disturbing) I consulted
Nick and Heffer.
They sympathized with my intention (always a bad sign) and agreed
that the Germans were unlikely to kill Archambault if they thought"
we still trusted him. They also agreed that some silks were bound tOj
be captured, and that making the Germans a present of one wouldn t-^ affect their security. But both Gurus felt that the timing was wrongaj
350
1 that it would be in the interests of agents as a whole if we delayed
discovery of silks for as long as we could.
-leffer conceded that the idea would probably achieve its objective,
: that in the hands of F section 'it would end by doing more harm
n good'.
didn't argue; out of deference to their experience, and because I
s worried by Heffer's comment. It didn't occur to me until I'd left
m that the idea could be helpful to other country sections, and
^ht prolong the lives of captured Dutch agents.
was about to turn back when I realized that like most amateur
[fare officers I was in danger of becoming addled.
'd given Netball a six months' supply of poems to persuade Giskes
t we had no reason to doubt their security but he might ask
iself why we hadn't given him silks instead. And even if the bastard
icluded that they weren't available at the time (22 April) he was
ind to ask himself two vital questions: What had prompted
ndon to make such drastic changes? And was there any further
<at in keeping the agents alive?
t was time to think again.
everything was eclipsed (including Giskes) by a telegram
m Sweden in main-line cipher which arrived on the 15th. It was
ginated by Ronald Turnbull ('our man' in the Stockholm
ation).
[Tie telegram stated that German scientists at the research station
Peenemiinde were under orders from Hitler to devise ways of
ss-producing long-range rockets so that he could carry out his
Cat to 'plaster London with thousands of missiles a day till it was
ed to the ground'.
Furnbull added that new radio apparatus for the rockets was being
earched at Bornholm (a Danish island which the Germans had
fed off), and that the scientists were under great pressure from
Aer to complete their experiments.
Insealing the secrets of Bornholm would be the Danish directorh
responsibility, and Hollingsworth's response was immediate. On
Sluly he asked me to call on him as soon as I could, and showed
& message which was to be transmitted to Duus Hansen in a few
Jars' time:
351
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Can you report on activity at Peenemiinde where enemy are producing
and experimenting with long range rockets. It is believed that
radio apparatus on Bornholm is connected with these experiments.
We urgently need a description of the rockets and their emplacements,
and as much information as possible about the scale of
rocket and projector production at the research station.
Hollingsworth then disclosed his anxieties about the Peenemunde
traffic.
Most of if would be passed by Duus Hansen, and he was anxious
for him to stop using his poem-code and switch to a silk, which could
either be dropped to him during the August moon or sent to Sweden
and infiltrated. The difficulty was that the system would be new to
him. Did I think he could learn to use it from written instructions?
And did I foresee any other problems?
I replied that Hansen knew as much about WT as anyone in Signals,
and I was certain he'd have no difficulty understanding how to use
a WOK from written instructions and, at a later state, a onetime
pad. The only problems I foresaw were his security checks, which
mustn't be included with his silks and would have to be delivered to
him separately.
Hollingsworth assured me that a trusted courier would hand the
checks to him in a coded message, and that on reflection the safest
course would be to send all his codes via Sweden. Would it take long
to produce them?
He had a dozen WOKs on his desk an hour later with a set of
instructions which I'd done my best to keep simple. When he telephoned
to tell me that he'd tested the instructions and found them
'just the job' I felt like a guided missile.
The latest developments in Holland brought me sharply back to earth.
N section had ordered the Dutch agents to attack enemy installations,
though the security of their WT links must at all costs be preserved. Their targets included U-boats, coal harbours and railway
sidings, as well as goods trains, electrical repair shops and factories
producing spare parts for night fighters.
352
N section also required information about the Luftwaffe divisions
Amsterdam, and urgently needed to know at what times night liters were lined up on the tarmac at Venio and Gilze in readiness
r takeoff.
The agents were quick to comply. According to a spate of messages >in Ebenezer, Parsley, Catarrh, Cucumber and Co., freedom fighters d successfully attacked patrol boats, barges and railway carriages
Rotterdam, Amsterdam and Delft, as well as mine-sweepers, coachBiding
factories and storage depots, but had suffered very few tualties.
Other 'reliable' information continued to reach N section: Catarrh
ported that the cut-out who delivered the Victory group's message is a traitor and gave a full description of him; Broadbean was
bulging for two agents to be smuggled to England, and asked undon to broadcast a contact phrase, 'A better world starts with
Sirself; and Cucumber was continuing his efforts to establish what
happened to Kale and his boat.
; wasn't the only one to express concern about the missing cornier.
Mangold sent a message via Netball saying that although
:'d been no news of Kale, he was still hoping that his old chief
safe. Meanwhile he'd continue to take Kale's place, and to carry
Jis instructions.
despite all this traffic not a single agent had made a mistake
coding. Nor could I see any signs in the outgoing messages that
had really accepted the extent of the collapse. Perhaps the new
itions were part of an SOE master plan which I'd be told about
the C crisis was over. Perhaps with a capital pee .. .
as about to close the books on July when I received the biggest of my SOE life.
~k walked in accompanied by my former boss Dansey, who
left his main-line code department without very good reasons.
cifully unaware of what these were, I produced the special
iches reserved for welcome visitors, and won a short reprieve. ^ then informed me that he and Gubbins were becoming
lingly concerned about our Middle East traffic, and had decided ansey should go to Cairo in August to improve the efficiency
main-line code room, and to prevent further backlogs. I was
353
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
to join him in Cairo a week later to deal with the agents' traffic, and
to explain the importance of WOKs and LOPs.
I neither moved nor spoke, and they looked at me as if realizing
rigor mortis had already set in. I managed to smile, a habit to which
I understood corpses were prone, but was careful not to part my lips
in case the reason for my panic slipped out.
Nick asked if I had any questions, but I was keeping them for the
Almighty.
Puzzled by my silence, a rare event in his presence. Nick glanced
at Dansey, who was equally perplexed. 'I'd better warn you,' Nick
finally said, 'that the natives are likely to be hostile.'
Sod the natives, and Gubbins, and Nick. None of them knew how
lucky they were.
They didn't have to deal with my parents.
354
FORTY-SIX
The Club Rules
preaching twenty-three and frequently mistaken for an adult, I
s reluctant to blow my cover by admitting to my colleagues that
ng a member of the JOCC (Jewish Only Child's Club) conferred
ny advantages, but leaving home for a week wasn't one of them
nd as for leaving this country.
remembered the heartache which had accompanied my only other > abroad.
^t the age of sixteen I'd been allowed to visit Paris escorted by an
:le, who'd been ordered to prepare me for the throne of 84 by
tfining our expeditions to libraries, museums and antiquarian ikshops. Ignoring his brief, my conducting officer introduced me
a brothel which specialized in beginners. My parents had phoned Paris several times but didn't know the
tthel's number, and the proceedings were uninterrupted except by
'.ineptitude.
now had the problem of explaining to them why the Ministry of Hour required me to visit its Cairo branch. I decided to give them Ht to adjust to it, but not enough to attempt to accompany me. 3n 5 August I waited till our black-market dinner was no more ft' a rumble, and announced that I was going to the Middle East
Hi week.
|ard of hearing at will, Mother convinced herself that I'd said the
K^End, and warned me that Whitechapel was a very rough district tthat I mustn't stay there after dark.
xplained that I was going to Cairo.
at that's abroad.' she said.
unable to dispute it.
355
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
She didn't keel over because she had Father to support.
I explained that I'd been temporarily transferred to a branch of
Intelligence.
'They need to have their heads examined,' said Mother, 'sending a baby to that awful place.'
Father announced that he'd be back in an hour and left the room
abruptly,
'Now look what you've done,' said Mother. 'He's gone to get
pissed.'
But for once Benjamin Marks had another objective, and returned
an hour later clutching a large solar topi, which he thrust into my
hand.
'Swear on your mother's life you'll never be without it,' he said.
'And swear on your father's life that you'll never drink the
water.'
'And swear on your mother's life that you'll never ...'
I swore twelve oaths in all, each as unbreakable as a LOP.
'When do you leave?' Father finally asked.
'In about a fortnight.'
'A lot can happen in that time,' he said,
It was one of his rare understatements.
Dansey's departure was scheduled for the 15th, mine for the 23rd.
SOE had arranged for me to spend a few hours in Lisbon en route, and all my papers were in order except for the visa known as courage.
Always a nervous traveller even in a pram, I was convinced that my
plane would crash, and that I'd perish cigarless in the desert.
I began thinking about my successor, and hoped he'd come from
Bletchley. I also thought about the problems he'd inherit.
Determined to help him take over without losing momentum, I
decided to leave him the fullest possible briefing, and set about preparing
my last will and testament. If I spent my few remaining days
doing nothing else, I'd have just enough time to finish the document, amend it and deposit it with Muriel - my most valuable bequest to him.
In the middle of my preparations a crisis occurred which few had foreseen, and which could have disastrous consequences if the code
356
nent failed to achieve the technically impossible. It was the
ifficult problem I'd encountered since joining SOE.
:ein (Father's favourite Yiddisher boy) might have known how
; it. This one could only say his prayers.
357
FORTY-SEVEN
Lake Como's Bottom
'.. . this is the most important commitment SOE's
ever undertaken, and it can't succeed without Signals.
So you'd better get your thinking cap on.'
(Nick to author, August '43)
I was disappointed to learn that the commitment was Italy. Unable
to take seriously any country which was run by Mussolini, I continued
brooding about my successor while Nick explained that the Italians
were preparing to surrender to the Allies, and that the negotiations
were being conducted by SOE.
'. .. but what's more to the point, we shall be handling the traffic.'
Mistaking my frown for a thinking cap, he explained how vital it
was that the Germans didn't learn about the armistice attempt or
they'd probably occupy Rome and shoot the negotiators. His
summary of the Italian situation was like an excerpt from Dante's
Inferno.
Mussolini had been deposed in July after a meeting of the Fascist
Grand Council, and Marshal Badoglio had replaced him as premier.
A fervent anti-Nazi, he'd instructed his agents in Madrid to inform
their SOE counterparts that the new Italian government was prepared
to negotiate a surrender.
After preliminary talks in Lisbon with an Anglo-American team
(the British were represented by members of SOE) the marshal's jj
deputy, General Castellano, had flown to Massingham to finalize jj
surrender terms with Harold Macmillan and Lord Sheffield from
London, and two American generals (Bedell-Smith and Strong).
All the arrangements for this key conference had been made
358
our man at Massingham, Colonel Douglas Dodds-Parker, who was
skilful enough to be our man anywhere. (Dodds-Parker was the
'giraffe in uniform' who'd shown me the way to Gubbins's office on
my one and only stint as night duty officer.) The Italian delegates
had used Dodds-Parker's bedroom for their private discussions but
he'd had the foresight to bug it, which took much of the surprise out
of the subsequent discussions.
Although the parties reached 'agreement in principle' after an allnight
session, the surrender terms had to be ratified by Badoglio in
Rome, and both sides realized that it was essential to establish a radio
link between him and Massingham.
Helpful as ever, Dodds-Parker informed the Italians that one of
| SOE's most reliable WT operators was in prison in Verona. His
:name was Dick Mallaby and he'd been captured by the Italians when
^e'd dropped into Lake Como. Castellano undertook to secure Malay's
release, and to smuggle him into the Quirinale in Rome with
dis captured WT set. Badoglio would then be in a position to comSnmicate
with Massingham.
ey The Allied commander. General Elsenhower, had been kept fully
^formed of these developments and had given them his blessing. The
raffle had been code-named Monkey, and would start as soon as
jAallaby was safely installed.
^Monkey's real significance, apart from shortening the war, was
»t C had been entirely excluded from the negotiations, and it would
a major 'up-yours' if we succeeded without them. But there was
minor problem: Mallaby's code.
lardly daring to ask, I enquired what it was and was shown his
He'd been trained in Cairo and given a novel from which to
"act phrases for his double-transposition. He'd then been sent to
iers to prepare for his drop, and the chief signals officer had given
> a poem to memorize in case he lost his novel, but he'd been
red by the Italians before passing any traffic.
ids-Parker suspected that the novel was at the bottom of Lake
> (the best place for it) but was convinced that Mallaby wouldn't
his poem as 'Dick had a most retentive memory'.
tithen emerged that it was considered impossible to get a new
.to him, and that the armistice traffic was to be passed in his
359
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
poem. I was ordered by Nick to drop everything and devise a way
of making it more secure.
The first thing I dropped I'd have been happy to share with Mussolini.
The only way of sending Mallaby security instructions would be
to transmit them in an insecure code. But that was only the fringe of
the problem.
We couldn't be sure the Germans didn't already know Mallaby's
poem. He'd been tortured by the Italians and might have thought he
could safely disclose his poem to them as he hadn't used it (they
might even send a message with the wrong security checks), and they
in turn might have passed it to the Germans as part of their efforts
to impress them.
I asked Nick why letter one-time pads couldn't be smuggled into
the Quirinale.
He replied that there wouldn't be enough time unless I dropped
them in myself en route to Cairo. He was always frivolous when at his
most worried, and telephoned Major Roseberry (head of the Italian
directorate).
A few hours later a dozen lops were on their way to Massingham
and another dozen to Lisbon, where two Italian generals might have
an outside chance of smuggling them in. (LOPs were essential for
this level of traffic and Mallaby should have no difficulty understanding
the instructions.)
In the meantime his poem had to be strengthened, but my thinking
cap was several sizes too small.
The problem seemed insoluble until I suddenly remembered DoddsParker's
comment that 'Dick had a most retentive memory'. If it was
as reliable as Douglas believed (his own was photographic), we might
be in sight of a short-term solution: we could transmit a message to Mallaby in his blown poem, giving him the words of a new one. These would consist of intimate details of his private life which the Germans couldn't possibly know.
He'd be instructed to memorize the new words (there'd be twentysix
of them) in the order in which we'd encoded them, and to use five different ones for each message. He could show Massingham
which five he'd selected by using his normal indicator system. He'd also be instructed that his messages must never contain less than 300^
360
srs (which with the voluble Italians was hardly likely), and to
ure that his transposition-keys were at least twenty letters long.
took the idea to Nick, and stressed that it was only a short-term
wer but it might be better than none.
Ie took a long time considering it, then studied me in silence.
idds-Parker was right to code-name the traffic Monkey,' he said
lly.
Ie then asked Roseberry to examine Mallaby's records and consult
colleagues in J section (the Italian directorate) for the information
needed, and sent messages to Cairo and Massingham urging anywho
knew Mallaby well (instructors, briefing officers and friends)
M-ovide London with personal details which must be absolutely
urate. He didn't disclose why they were needed.
ifting the data until I knew his foibles by heart, I selected the
nty-six words which were to become his new poem. They
uded: his mother's maiden name, his father's Christian name,
brand-name of his favourite beer, the title of his favourite film
'tropolis), the surname of the actress he most wanted to sleep with
ui Harlow) and the make of his first car. I then took the package
Wck and Heffer.
lick's only reservation was the inclusion of Jean Harlow, but
'fer thought she'd be excellent security and asked me to let him
•w next time one of her films was shown in London. The blonde
nbshell (as Miss Harlow was popularly known) was allowed a
t in the armistice traffic.
hir next job was briefing the head of Signals at Massingham (Bill
;bett), and Nick sent a message to him in main-line cipher, which
Was to decode personally. The message explained how the new
'ft worked, and then instructed Corbett to lock it in his safe until
fas required, and to allow no more than three coders to use it.
tl of them must be warned that under no circumstances was she
|scuss the code or the traffic with anyone but Corbett. The texts of
essages would not be subject to normal distribution procedures.
ling messages would be collected by Colonel Dodds-Parker or by
one he'd appointed, and outgoing messages handed to Corbett
ally. If Mallaby transmitted any indecipherable messages the
roups must be sent to London in main-line cipher, and we
361
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
would assist in breaking them. (It would be impossible for Massingham
to mount a blanket attack when only three girls were allowed
to know the code.)
Corbett confirmed that he fully understood Nick's telegram and
would take the necessary steps.
I was still hoping that the Italians in Lisbon would find the Quirinale
easier to penetrate than Gubbins's mind was to me, and that the
silks would reach him in time. SOE's telepathic system was on red
alert, and I received a call from the general within seconds of the
thought.
'Damn good Monkey business,' he said, and replaced the receiver.
But I knew the truth. I'd produced a flashy idea with little merit
because Mallaby's poem couldn't stand up to heavy traffic, and would
have to be changed as frequently as possible.
I set about preparing the reserve poems. I had plenty of material
left, including the age at which he'd lost his virginity (he'd repeatedly
maintained that he was nine), but some details of his early life were
contradictory, and I had to be careful which I selected.
Three hours later the new poems were on their way to Massingham.
I said a silent prayer that they wouldn't be used, and retired to my
own Quirinale to prepare my last will and testament.
362
FORTY-EIGHT
7 Hereby Bequeath . . /
i'Most of the information my successor would need was fully documented,
and my first task was to ensure that he knew where to find
; without having to depend on third parties.
i-sThe records which I kept in my safe and updated weekly would we him a compendium of the strengths and weaknesses of every
ember of the code department except its present head, and provide
m with the coding idiosyncrasies of every agent. They also dealt
fith the foibles of our country section clients, and the vulnerabilities
eir otherwise) of our suppliers.
pBut none of these would give him the insights he needed and I'd
jwe no peace (if the luxury existed where I was likely to be going)
jaless I disclosed certain malpractices I'd committed which were
l&where on record.
II confessed to intercepting all messages from the field in secret
nch code, breaking the indecipherables and re-encoding them accudy
so that the agents wouldn't be instructed to repeat them, and
)ed he'd continue the malpractice with the utmost caution. I also
aitted to launching Plan Giskes without authority, and referred
l to my Dutch and Belgian reports to help him evaluate the results. "he crime sheet was so long that I decided to leave it to the last
t was more important to brief him about two recent events which
Ie likely to need immediate attention and which had complicated ikgrounds.
sl2 August Bodington returned from France.
i request to be picked up by Lysander had been transmitted by
Inayat Khan, who'd been wandering around Paris with her set
363
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
in a suitcase. Although he'd been reluctant to entrust his message to
her, he'd found he had no option as the Prosper, Chestnut and Bricklayer
circuits had completely collapsed, and 'Madeleine' was the only
one of Buckmaster's WT operators still at liberty in Paris.
I learned from Maurice that she'd committed many indiscretions
including leaving her signal-plan and poem in the hallway of a flat
where they'd remained open for inspection for several hours. Bodington
had urged her to 'lie low' till London instructed her otherwise,
and she'd agreed to do so. But Maurice doubted if she would.
I warned my successor that 'lying low' was as close to lying as
Noor could ever get, and that because of her attitude I'd given her a
special security check which would be new to the Germans, and
which she was to use only if she were caught. (Her transposition-key
must be eighteen letters long.) I also warned him that there was no
guarantee that she'd remember it (though I was convinced that she
would), and I urged him to take special care with every message she
encoded.
The other event concerned Hitler's intention of razing London to the
ground. According to Duus Hansen, as reliable a source as any in
the field, the rocket sites at Peenemunde had become a tug-of-war
between C and SOE.
On 12 August he sent a message to Sweden asking which organization
he was supposed to be working for. He was especially keen to
know whether he should send information about the rocket sites to
the Danish section of SOE or to Hannibal (a department in C he'd
previously worked for and was still in touch with). He complained
that both organizations were asking him to obtain the same information!

Turnbull sent him a long message (repeated to London in mainline
code) stressing that operational matters were SOE's responsibility
and that he should send his information to SOE's Stockholm office.
It would then be forwarded to SOE's London HQ, which would be responsible for distributing it!
I reminded my successor that Hansen's silks and security checks
were being delivered to him by courier, and that although the Stock- ^ holm office had so far proved reliable, no chances should be taken ^
364
ad Hansen must be asked a number of test questions when he began
sing his WOK.
I was in the middle of dealing with our techniques for breaking
idecipherables when Tommy walked in wearing his Croix de Guerre
inform. He was standing by to mount a two-man mission with
rossolette, code-named Marie-Claire. Its function was to restore
lorale in the field following the capture of Moulin, and to establish
Aew chain of command. Tommy had been selected for the mission
v de Gaulle and Passy - yet another sign of their confidence in him.
,He looked at me sharply and asked what was wrong.
;I told him that SOE was sending me to Cairo to convert the natives
lJudaism.
BHe knew my domestic situation and it invariably amused him, but
E[ was no humour in his face as he studied me thoughtfully. He
1 me whether I'd like him to keep in touch with my parents while
> away. If so, he'd introduce himself as my Ministry of Labour
g»ervisor.
((Couldn't let him see how much his offer had affected me, and for
jjtfirst time since I'd known him I averted my face from my favourite
ervisor.
ne half of Marie-Claire closed the door behind him.
'ealized that I hadn't even asked him what he'd wanted.
;d to define 'SOE-mindedness', but soon gave up in despair (perI
I'd understand it from the other side), and gave the document
Auriel for typing, warning her to take no copies.
Oaware that she was my executor, she began work at once.
lone in a way that was new, I made a contribution to the ditty(wondering
if it would be my last:
We have a little time left
The wise doctor said
Unless there's a miracle
Which is another man's trade
Selfish as always
I've started missing you now
365
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Want to say so
Don't know how
Want to hug you
Don't know if I should
Hope you understand
I'd take your place if could.*
I was in the middle of adding a codicil about Nick and Heffer
when Muriel put her head round the door and, without a trace of
regret, reminded me that I had a plane to catch.
* Issued in September '44 to a Jedburgh. He was killed a week after he'd landed l
France.
366
FORTY-NINE
A Treat for the Natives
I, 'You must forget all about Baker Street for the next
seven days, and that includes Monkey. Keep everything
for Cairo. God knows it needs it.'
(Nick's parting instructions)
. 24 August one of the war's lesser events took place outside the lain entrance of Shephard's Hotel, Cairo, where a room had been
l^erved for me - probably by mistake.
|My braces broke, and my trousers slid gracefully to the ground. »e next to descend were the shimmering underpants which only
Sterday my tearful mother had lovingly pressed.
She would have been proud of the interest they aroused in the
|?n-mouthed natives. At the time of the involuntary exposure I was
|tehing a briefcase full of silks in one hand and my solar topi in
|?other. Reluctant to relinquish the former for security reasons, I | the latter between my knees to protect an indispensable append- Ifrom sunstroke. I then bent down to retrieve my dignity, affording [fascinated drivers and pedestrians a view of kosher rump, which
c may not have had in mind when he instructed me to keep
ything for Cairo.
he honking of car-horns was followed by a round of applause
| the direction of the hotel.
?oking up, I saw a world-famous American watching me from Veranda. He continued to watch me as I hobbled towards the nce, clutching my trousers, then leaned across the veranda for
icr inspection. His voice was marginally less carrying than Chur-
367
BETW EEN S ILK AMD CYAMIDE
chill's and almost as famous. 'Excuse me, sir. What are you goine to
do for an encore?'
Wishing he knew, Sir hobbled inside.
Next time we met, my fingers would be free to give him an appropriate
answer.
SOE's HQ was in Rustom Buildings, a large grey-pillared block in the
centre of an otherwise respectable residential area. Every taxi-driver in
Cairo knew the address and charged double for reaching it.
Dansey, one of the few people whom khaki shorts aged, was waiting
at the reception desk. Handing me my pass, he warned me not
to lose it or I'd have to buy a new one from the head porter at
Shephard's. He then led me into an ante-room and briefed me in
undertones.
The situation as he saw it was 'pretty damn serious'. The mainline
traffic had been allowed to pile up and more coders would have to
be sent from London to deal with the backlog. I must make up my
own mind about agents' traffic, but he thought he should warn me
that the silks I'd sent from London 'hadn't caught on' and my visit
was considered completely unnecessary.
He then outlined what he referred to as 'the drill'.
Cairo's Chief of Staff, Brigadier Keble, would send for me sometime
this evening as he was far too busy to see me before, but I probably
wouldn't meet the head of Signals (Ridley-Martin) at all as he was |
away for a week. Nor was I likely to meet his deputy (Jerry Parker), |
who was also away, but the third in command (Bill Chalk) would |
look in sometime this afternoon to say hello. He suggested that I
should spend the whole day 'getting the feel of the code room' until Keble was ready to send for me.
He then looked at me appealingly. 'Don't rub him up the|
wrong way, old chap. He's a short-tempered little sod at the best ofj times!'
Picking up my solar topi (I'd sworn 'on Mother's life' never to B< without it), I assured him I'd be careful and followed him upstairs.
To the untrained eye (as great a liability in wartime as the untrain
heart) all code rooms looked alike. But to those afflicted with cipl
368
awareness, every one had an aura of its own, and Cairo's was as '.bowed as the heads of its coders.
- It was a multi-purpose code room, and the girls were required to
switch from main-line traffic to agents' and back again, a malpractice
which London had long since abandoned. (Dansey had been the first to agree that the systems needed different skills and temperaments, and that agents' traffic should be a separate entity.) Many of the girls
--on the present shift (including the supervisor) were veterans from
-Grendon, where they'd been trained to behave like mini- sfcryptographers rather than cipher clerks. They watched with growing
Upprehension as Dansey led me to an empty desk in the corner. He
||faen explained the mechanics of the office, told me where to find him
PI needed his help, and left me to get on with it.
The facts emerged slowly, like soldiers from a brothel.
|i The agents were given novels from which to obtain their transpo(ftion-keys,
though several had been issued with magazines, and one
ppeared to be using a military manual. The volume of traffic was favy, and at peak periods several hundred messages a day were tchanged with agents in Greece, Yugoslavia, Tehran, Istanbul, Crete ad a number of Balkan towns and villages. There were also two-way
|changes with long-range desert groups.
|Even the most rudimentary precautions were ignored, and I found
(ght examples of the same transposition-keys being used for messages
(identical length (cryptographically fatal), and six examples of mesges
which contained fewer than fifty letters. (One was from the
E)me Station.) A file marked 'Indecipherables' disclosed that fifteen
I been received in the past week, and that in each case the miscres
had been instructed to re-encode them.
; casually enquired if any attempts were made to break agents'
cipherables, and there was a bewildered shaking of heads. As one
ade put it, 'They have a lot more time than we have.' I barely
nized the Grendon coders as they plodded away at their desks.
the biggest shock was reserved for midday, when I barely nized the code room.
I was suddenly invaded by a succession of captains and lieutenants »weren't members of the Royal Corps of Signals (their only dis- ale asset). They were allowed to saunter into the code room,
369
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
examine the novels and magazines which were being used as codes
then saunter out again carrying whichever took their fancy. A casual
enquiry elicited that they read them on the roof during the lunch
hour but always returned them.
Determined to repel the invaders, and equally anxious to pee I
followed a young lieutenant and his novel out of the code room, but
instead of going upstairs, where I presumed the roof to be, he went
in the opposite direction and headed for the exit.
Tapping him on the shoulder, which I was barely able to reach, I
introduced myself as the head of Codes from London. I then informed
him that on the instructions of General Gubbins the lending library
was closed for the duration, and suggested that if he were short of
reading matter he should write to an excellent bookshop in London
whose address was 84 Charing Cross Road.
The bemused lieutenant surrendered the book without the slightest
opposition. It turned out to be The Four Just Men, and I felt like the
fifth.
I then asked if he'd be kind enough to show me the way to the
gents.
Five minutes later I returned to a code room which was even more
badly in need of a flush.
By mid-afternoon I'd broken my first Cairo indecipherable, and was
embarking on my second when Major Chalk (number three in the
Signals hierarchy) walked in 'just to say hello', as Dansey had predicted.

He was a professional signals officer and it soon became apparent
that he knew more about wireless than he did about codes. He expressed the hope that I'd find nothing wrong with Cairo's. I didn't
tell him that so far I'd found nothing right.
I was summoned to Keble's office at 7.30 p.m. Dansey and Chalk
were already there.
The 'short-tempered little sod at the best of times' didn't look up
for almost a minute while I stood in front of his desk clutching my
briefcase and solar topi. He then shook hands perfunctorily and
pointed to a chair. H
He had a ginger moustache and eyes which complemented it. They .
370
iformed me within seconds that he wasn't going to be taught his
usiness by a young pup of a Jew-boy who, like most of his kind,
ad managed to avoid military service. He eyed my solar topi as if ; were a Hasidic skullcap.
I took my WOKs and LOPs from my briefcase, where they'd been gfrigerating, and began explaining their function. He interrupted me to say that it was time 'you people in London' galized that Cairo's clandestine communications had damn-all in
onunon with Europe's. As for 'those silk knickers' I was trying to
eddle, he'd been advised on good authority, including that of a naval Ipher expert from Alexandria, that the codes issued to agents were
|eure enough for all practical purposes, and he saw no reason to Kerfere with them.
|l agreed that Cairo's agents operated in different circumstances Hm ours but suggested that cryptographers were the same the world
er. His eyes said 'so are Yids', and he ordered me to come to the
nt.
desperate to rescue a joke which now couldn't possibly come off,
lid that cryptographers would have far more to show for their
»rts if they examined silk knickers for what they normally con- led than if they probed them for agents' traffic. I then hastily
pted out that silk codes would put an end to indecipherables,
ivide reliable security checks, and cut agents' air-time in half.
Kry not to make too much of a nuisance of yourself, old chap . . .' id chap stood up. 'Brigadier, if you don't believe that your agents'
5c is wide open to cryptographic attack, could you please provide
rith a blackboard, risk wasting an hour of your valuable time,
llow me to prove to you how vulnerable it is.' 1 of meeting.
Sty-four hours later I was too tired, torpid and listless to care tt anything. Nor did I need to worry any more about making a |»Bce of myself. I simply didn't have the energy. I attributed the l&yement to the change of climate, and to Cairo's infectious attiI^What
happens will happen'.
s only when I could no longer distinguish a WOK from a
' a coder from a code-book that I realized that I'd picked up a
371
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
bug, and that it was making itself at home in its new accommodation
I was given an injection by a medically qualified pig-sticker and an even sharper one by a bespectacled lady who approached the desk
as if about to claim alimony. She informed me that she was Brigadier
Keble's secretary, and that I was to report to him in an hour to give
a demonstration. She didn't say of what, but added without much
enthusiasm that she would return and collect me.
I managed to encode two messages and must have dozed off because
when I opened one eye the coders were tittering and the bespectacled
lady was beckoning to me from the doorway.
Trying to keep pace with her as she strode down the corridors was
like crossing the Gobi Desert carrying a camel. She escorted me into
what she described as the 'lecture room', where twenty or so uniformed
tribesmen were clustered around camp-fires which turned out to be
desks. I glimpsed Keble's red tabs shining like traffic lights signalling
stop. A blue blur on one side of him crystallized into a naval commander,
and a brown one on the other side into Dansey and Chalk. The
haloes at the back were groups of coders flanked by their supervisors.
Mounting a mile-long platform an inch at a time, I confronted a
large Nubian with crossed arms, which turned out to be a blackboard., He had coloured chalks on his person where lesser men had testicles^ and I wrote my messages on his chest in block capitals which wert twice their normal size as I had half my normal confidence, 'i:
I then left the room completely. I was in the Quirinale with Mal~ laby, in Peenemunde with Duus Hansen, in Duke Street with Tonuny^ And in Park West being cosseted.
I had no idea what I said. I heard the phrase 'You cair& practitioners' and knew I was accusing them of something but wasn? sure what. I also heard someone who sounded like me saying,' agent must stay on the air a second longer than necessary,'
thoroughly agreed with him.
A few hundred bewilderments later I heard suggestions being ca out from all around the room which either meant I was being to to fuck off or that I'd reached that point in the lecture where I inv^ the audience to become cryptographers.
I found myself replacing the chalk, and realized that the ines
had been broken and that I must have given the congregants
372
A TREAT FOR THE NATIVES
lp or they'd still be floundering. I knew that I was, but they web
;arly waiting for me to build to a climax.
But with what?
Remembering past successes, a sure sign of ageing, I ^old thsn
out the first agent I'd briefed who'd been as frightened of eoni.
Co the field as I'd been of meeting him, who was convinced th
'd make mistakes in his coding, and who'd recited his poem to 111°
if it were a personal appeal to his Home Station.
I spoke on his behalf. It began:
Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow . . .
id ended:
Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
; And on the low dark verge of life
; The twilight of eternal day,
Be near me.
te final 'Be near me' was mine, and I hoped that Tennyson wouli
1'give me.
I stumbled off the platform, and suddenly found myself in Kebfc
6ce, wondering who'd carried me there.
|»ivmg me no indication of whether the past hour had beeni
Jaster, he instructed me to write a full report on agents' ciphp
Jlch must be presented to him no later than forty-eight hours befm
jBt Cairo (my departure was set for 3 September, five days awa"1
psecretary would type the report but I must allow her ^..
ito it as she was extremely busy with important correspondent
Iphen returned to his own.
pien I staggered back to the code room expecting to be ereetii
Iji'titters, the girls ignored me altogether.
|jtey were far too busy trying to break an indecipherable
373
BETWEEN SILK AND CYAMIDE
bug, and that it was making itself at home in its new accommodation
I was given an injection by a medically qualified pig-sticker and
an even sharper one by a bespectacled lady who approached the desk
as if about to claim alimony. She informed me that she was Brigadier
Keble's secretary, and that I was to report to him in an hour to give
a demonstration. She didn't say of what, but added without much
enthusiasm that she would return and collect me.
I managed to encode two messages and must have dozed off because
when I opened one eye the coders were tittering and the bespectacled
lady was beckoning to me from the doorway.
Trying to keep pace with her as she strode down the corridors was
like crossing the Gobi Desert carrying a camel. She escorted me into
what she described as the 'lecture room', where twenty or so uniformed
tribesmen were clustered around camp-fires which turned out to be
desks. I glimpsed Keble's red tabs shining like traffic lights signalling
stop. A blue blur on one side of him crystallized into a naval commander,
and a brown one on the other side into Dansey and Chalk. The
haloes at the back were groups of coders flanked by their supervisors.
Mounting a mile-long platform an inch at a time, I confronted a
large Nubian with crossed arms, which turned out to be a blackboard.
He had coloured chalks on his person where lesser men had testicles,
and I wrote my messages on his chest in block capitals which were twice their normal size as I had half my normal confidence.
I then left the room completely. I was in the Quirinale with Mallaby,
in Peenemunde with Duus Hansen, in Duke Street with Tommy.
And in Park West being cosseted.
I had no idea what I said. I heard the phrase 'You cairo- practitioners' and knew I was accusing them of something but wasn't sure what. I also heard someone who sounded like me saying, 'No
agent must stay on the air a second longer than necessary,' and thoroughly agreed with him. ,
A few hundred bewilderments later I heard suggestions being ca^e!^ out from all around the room which either meant I was being
to fuck off or that I'd reached that point in the lecture where I in
the audience to become cryptographers.
I found myself replacing the chalk, and realized that the messa',
had been broken and that I must have given the congregants "
372
Ip or they'd still be floundering. I knew that I was, but they were
;arly waiting for me to build to a climax.
But with what?
Remembering past successes, a sure sign of ageing, I told them
out the first agent I'd briefed who'd been as frightened of going
to the field as I'd been of meeting him, who was convinced that
'd make mistakes in his coding, and who'd recited his poem to me
if it were a personal appeal to his Home Station.
I spoke on his behalf. It began:
Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow . ..
id ended:
Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
? The twilight of eternal day,
Be near me.
»e final 'Be near me' was mine, and I hoped that Tennyson would
Rgive me.
I stumbled off the platform, and suddenly found myself in Keble's
Bee, wondering who'd carried me there.
jESiving me no indication of whether the past hour had been a
|aster, he instructed me to write a full report on agents' ciphers
pch must be presented to him no later than forty-eight hours before
tt Cairo (my departure was set for 3 September, five days away).
^secretary would type the report but I must allow her time to
B it as she was extremely busy with important correspondence.
Aen returned to his own.
hen I staggered back to the code room expecting to be greeted
>• titters, the girls ignored me altogether.
' were far too busy trying to break an indecipherable.
373
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
The pig-sticking doctor must have been better than I thought because a third of the way through the report I understood what I was writing
It was finished on the 29th, and typed on the 30th by the bespectacled
lady. Despite my conscientious attempts to cut it (if an author's ever
are), it was thirty-five pages long.
It contained a list of security precautions which should be introduced
immediately, and cited twenty examples of traffic which must
be considered blown if the enemy cryptographers' commitments
allowed them to attack it. The case for adopting WOKs and LOPs
took up most of the space.
I'd made no attempt to criticize the coders or the Signals Office
staff as I'd misassessed their lassitude, and what I'd diagnosed as
'gyppy-head' was really 'gyppy-tummy'. I'd also failed to understand
the complexity of Cairo's traffic.
Keble's secretary instructed me to submit the report to him the
following morning.
He was alone and offered me a lunchtime drink, which was a bit
early for me so I imagined I was Father.
The atmosphere changed when he saw the length of the report.
Weighing it in his hand, he said he'd hoped to discuss it with me
before I left Cairo but there was little chance he could read 'a damn
encyclopaedia' before the 3rd. However, he'd do his best.
I thanked him for his drink and stood up to go, but he called me
back. 'There's something I've been meaning to ask you.' He pointed
at my solar topi, which always seemed to magnetize him. '"What are
you hiding in that damn thing? A miniature recording machine?
'Yes, sir. My head.'
He seemed about to crown it with the 'damn encyclopaedia' but changed his mind at the last moment.
He was reading the report as I left.
Late that night I was pacing up and down a deserted lounge in Shephard's wondering whether I'd said too much in my report or not j enough when someone fell into step behind me, and an unmistakable! voice asked a question which was seldom addressed to me. 'Mind it^ I join you?'
It was the world-famous American who'd witnessed my stript
374
Without waiting for an answer, he kept pace with me for the next ;w miles. He then expressed concern for the carpet, and invited me > join him in a drink. Knowing his reputation for meanness, I checked
iat I had enough cash on me to pay for it, and sat down beside him
dshing I could tell him that amongst his many admirers in London ras one called YeoThomas.
"A group of American officers waved to him from the doorway and
p waved back at them without inviting them to join us. They gave 1C the kind of look which said, 'What the hell's he doing with that |tle pisspot?'
,;,It puzzled me too until I remembered he had a reputation for
(joying the company of oddballs.
|Sy the time we were sharing a bottle of what was possibly wine
|was calling me Leo but I insisted on addressing him by his surname ith a Mr attached), partly because I respected his talent but mainly pause his surname was Mother's pet-name for Father. He'd probly charge her if he knew.
He elicited that I'd flown in from London, and I was certain he
tiized that I might expose a long list of things to him but not why
Income to Cairo. He also elicited that my father had a bookshop
d Marks & Co. in Charing Cross Road. 'I've heard about it from
lie,' he said. 'He's the only friend I have who can read.'
harlie who?'
haplin.' He looked at me apologetically as if he'd been caught
ting. It was one of his most famous expressions.
ie fact that we were both Jews was no help in establishing a
tionship between us (contrary to a widespread belief amongst
e less fortunate), and as communication was his speciality
Uted for him to explain what we had to share apart from a
e.
pth the timing that his 'friend Charlie' had publicly described as ifcest in the business' he told me that he'd be interested to hear
Sl-an Englishman what English Jews felt about the war, and what am contribution was to the downfall of Hitler. His was making ops laugh but I was being offered his serious side.
i him that English Jews were well represented in the armed
Ithough many of us had branched out in certain other directions.
375
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
He leaned forward expectantly as I produced two examples of our
diversification.
We'd created the best black market in the whole of Europe and
those of us who were anxious to avoid military service, which I
estimated to be not much more than 99 per cent, were responsible
for a major scientific discovery. "With the help of two Harley Street
doctors we'd found a way to deceive our medical examiners by producing
sugar in our urine when ordered to pass water. And when we
were told to wait two hours in the presence of an orderly and then
pass some more, our urine retained its sugar! This ensured a medical
certificate which guaranteed exemption from military service.
Although incredulity was his speciality, his disbelief was genuine,
and he said that a small proportion of draft-dodgers could give the
rest a bad name. He was sure the majority of Jews realized that this
was their chance to fight the greatest anti-Semite of all time.
I agreed that Jews certainly recognized a chance when they saw one but pointed out that centuries of persecution had given us an atavistic instinct for self-preservation which was never more in evidence
than in the First World War, which was also against an anti- Semite known as 'Kaiser Bill'.
'But you weren't even born then. Or is the light bad in here?'
Sensing I had his interest, I told him about my uncle, a distinguished
bookseller who pretended to be deaf to avoid military service. He managed to fool the doctors but was called before a military tribunal
for his final examination. While he was busy saying, 'Eh?' to whatever;
he was asked, someone fired a revolver. But he'd been warned aboutj this and didn't flinch. As he turned to go, someone dropped a coitt.j
He still didn't flinch. But when he reached the main hall someot quietly said, 'Got the time on you, Guv?' and he looked at his watch
He then ran for his life, chased by two military policemen, ai
rushed into a nearby delicatessen. Although the owner didn't knc
him, he must have been familiar with his plight because he raised i
lid of a herring-barrel, and uncle jumped in. He hid there for sev
hours until it was safe to emerge, and managed to avoid conscript
but he stank for the rest of the war and on warm nights still ' according to my aunt.
There was a long silence while he looked at me with his fa
376
d-pan expression. 'What was that line your uncle fell for? - "Got
time on you, Guv?"'
'confirmed that he was word-perfect.
Ie then treated me to a display of mime thousands of his admirers
aid buy black-market tickets for. Appearing to stand up without
ying from his chair, he recreated the entire proceedings for an
isible audience, giving uncle and the delicatessen owner lines they'd
'e been proud of. He was still in the herring-barrel when the door
he lounge opened and his wife walked in.
Ie introduced me to her as his friend Mr Marks, and she examined
loosely. 'I'm his wife,' she said. 'Mind if I ask you something?'
could only nod. She was far more attractive at close quarters than
|a she appeared in public as her husband's stooge.
•e you Groucho in disguise? No one else makes him laugh like
• held his nose as she pulled him from the herring-barrel, and I
; she didn't take it personally.
en witnessed a transformation which I found hard to believe.
gan walking like Uncle as she led him away! But I hadn't told
iat he affected a limp or that he leaned on a stick or that his
Ishoulder was lower than his left, though I'd seen it all in my
|when I'd described his examination.
etched him stop suddenly in the middle of the room, though I
si't see why, and heard her ask what he thought he was doing.
ting sugar.'
leaved to me over his shoulder, and was still laughing as she
m away to perform elsewhere.
w he'd given me an experience which I could dine out on for
: of my life if anyone would believe it. And if I had anyone to
tt with ...
ik you. Jack Benny, for giving me a month's holiday in the
^at we spent together. I shall be ready for Keble if he sends
^tomorrow.
'. you for letting me be Groucho, though I'm a Marks without
»and for listening with an inner ear when I spoke about
ij,sfiay help me with my briefings.
ks for not being ashamed of being proud of your race. I
377
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
wish I had the courage to be one of the troops you're here to entertain
but even you can't work miracles except on the stage.
Goodnight, Mr Benny. I hope we'll meet again, though I doubt if
I shall know what to do for an encore. *
And just for the record, the drinks were on him.
• • iff I
* I didn't see him again until a few years after the war, when he was mesmerizing CTQj
London Palladium with his solo performance. I wanted to go backstage afterwards to
hello, but my forebodings had been right: I didn't know what to do for an encore.
378
FIFTY
Home- Coming
iBgadier Keble couldn't find time to discuss my report with me, and
ras unavailable when I called in to say goodbye to him (perhaps he ton't like breaking down in front of strangers). But as I left, the girls toe tackling a batch of indecipherables, and presented me with some -I lappable braces, so my visit to Cairo wasn't a complete waste of
)n the night of 3 September I returned to London and went straight
he HQ Signals Office to find out what had happened to Mallaby.
Sly 29 August the silks still hadn't reached him, and he sent his
: message in his old poem confirming that he was safely installed
he Quirinale, and was ready to start operating his old set, which Italians had returned to him. Massingham replied giving him his (poem, and he began using it at once.
. September Corbett reported that Mallaby was having no
is with his set or his skeds, and hadn't sent a single indecipherHe
was allowed to come on the air whenever he wished and
| about to start using LMT, a form of double transposition which
I learned in Cairo, although every effort was being made to supply
LWith LOPs.
: messages had been exchanged between Marshal Badoglio and
iSagham, but they were repeated to London in main-line cipher t/was impossible to get the feel of Mallaby's coding. I 3 September the Italians confirmed that they were ready to i unconditional surrender, and Massingham informed General vwer that the negotiations were concluded.
HGennans seemed unaware of what was happening, but Mal- le was already overloaded, and there was still time for the
379
Germans to break it. If they did, according to Nick they'd occupy
Rome and shoot the negotiators.
Hoping that I hadn't used up a lifetime's luck, and that there'd be
a little left over for Mallaby's poem, I returned to Park West wearing
my solar topi.
On the morning of the 4th I learned from Heffer that while I'd been
'on holiday' an 'almighty row' had broken out between SOE and
Duke Street. Before he could explain why, CD's secretary telephoned.
I was to report to him at once, and take my Cairo report with me.
Heffer assured me that the row would still be on by the time I got
back.
It was the first time that I had been summoned to the sanctum
sanctorum (Latin was compulsory at St Paul's), and the experience
became even more harrowing when I saw that Gubbins was present.
He introduced me to CD, who looked at me with a twinkle. 'We know each other pretty well,' he said.
I'd hoped he'd forgotten me.
We'd met when he'd called in on one of his midnight prowls and
caught me breaking a message in secret French code which I'd pretended
was a Buckmaster indecipherable.
My other encounters with Sir Charles Hambro had been entirely
domestic. We still lived opposite each other in Park West; he still left
the curtains undrawn while he took his bath; and he still occasionally
watched me as I took my early morning swings across the rings above
the swimming pool fully-clothed and ready for Baker Street. 'I've
received a message from Brigadier Keble . . .' he announced. He picked up a main-line telegram from the desk while I tried to stop my stomach from rumbling.
'He accepts almost everything your report recommended,' he said. 'But that's not all. He wants me to send "a cryptographer of Marks's calibre to Cairo as quickly as possible" Congratulations on an excellent
job'
'Hear, hear,' said Gubbins - words I didn't think he knew.
They had a ring-side view of my epiglottis. Wary of praise unless
I bestowed it on myself, I was bewildered by Keble's change of heart, and by the fact that SOE's powerhouses had taken tfaCj
380
time to congratulate me personally instead of doing it through my
guv'nor.
With an uneasy feeling that all was not quite what it seemed, I
took my report from my briefcase. 'I believe you want a copy of this,
sir?'
'Indeed I do,' said Sir Charles, glancing at the general.
Not sure which powerhouse I should hand it to, I placed it between
them.
Their enthusiasm waned a little when they saw its size. 'We shan't
read it now,' CD said, 'but we'd like you to sum it up for us.'
'You will also tell us what you didn't put in,' barked Gubbins.
I spent fifteen minutes describing Cairo's cipher situation, but
although they listened attentively I sensed that their interest wasn't
really in codes.
This feeling was confirmed when they questioned me closely about
|feny impressions of the discipline in general, and then encouraged me
E describe my meetings with Keble without actually inviting me to
[ticize a senior officer. But a coward of my calibre wasn't prepared
engage in sabotage - verbal or otherwise - and I praised the efforts
everyone I'd met.
CD thanked me with a hint of disappointment, while Gubbins
ired at me in silence. He asked his next question without any
irning. 'What do you know about the secret French code?'
Uncle would have feigned deafness at this pistol shot, but I shudat
its impact and prayed it wasn't mortal. 'I'm not allowed to
anything about it, sir.'
t's not what I asked you,' he snapped.
s desperate for a cigar or any other prop. Even a herring-barrel
have helped.
»peak up,' barked Gubbins. 'What do you know about it?'
replied that I couldn't help noticing that large numbers of mesi
secret French code were indecipherable.
9 do you know they're indecipherable?' asked CD.
:e Street makes the agents re-encode them, sir, which means
have to stay on the air for longer than necessary and could be
?d.' Hoping he didn't think I was swearing, I explained that
on-finding units were a major hazard.
381
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
So was the speed of Gubbins's reaction. 'There haven't been any indecipherables for at least six months. Any idea why not?'
The little bastard's timing was on a par with Jack Benny's, but it
gave me nothing to laugh about. 'I noticed they'd dropped off sir but
I didn't realize there hadn't been any.'
'I repeat. How do you account for it?'
'Perhaps the briefing has improved, sir.'
'Any other possibilities?'
'Perhaps their coders have woken up, sir.'
'They aren't the only ones.' he snapped.
CD examined me as if I were one of Hambro's more suspect
accounts. 'You've no idea what their code is?' he finally asked.
'It's obviously some kind of double-transposition, sir - at least I hope it's double - but beyond that I know nothing. My Free French
opposite number refuses to discuss it.'
CD glanced at Gubbins with an unspoken question. The general
glared at me, then nodded almost imperceptibly, like God on a
Sunday.
'I don't suppose you know this,' CD said, 'but a serious dispute
has arisen with Duke Street over two of their messages ...' He then
explained that if the contretemps weren't resolved quickly it could
get completely out of hand, and that I might be called upon to take
'certain action'. He hoped it wouldn't prove necessary but if it were
he knew I'd do my best. He added that there was no point in discussing
the details now.
I was certain that Gubbins knew I'd been lying about De Gaulle's
secret code through my cigar-stained teeth, and the only action I
wanted to take was a quick visit to the gents.
'There's one more thing,' said CD, 'and then we can let you go.'
He picked up Keble's telegram and looked at me with a hint of his
old twinkle. 'I have to send Cairo a cryptographer of your calibre.
Is there anyone you can recommend?'
'There's Ensign Hornung at Station 53b, sir, and General Gubbms.
Eut Ensign Hornung can't be spared.' The remark slipped out before
I could stop it, and I hurried to the door before I made matters worse.
Later that day I learned that they couldn't be.
382
^,	FIFTY-ONE
Stranglehold
l>1"SBh6
Signals directorate was used to handling messages on which many
|i»es depended, but SOE's involvement with the armistice negoti""l^ons
caused the code department's nerves to prick and tingle, and
Bs heart to be sick, to an extent that nothing else had.
||By 3 September the end of Monkey was in sight with no signs of
Khishap, which added to the tension.
KOn 4 September Massingham informed London that the only issue
I be resolved with Badoglio was the formal announcement of Italy's
Birender.
|0n 5 September the real nightmare began.
(General Eisenhower sent a message to Badoglio which was
|ktismitted in double transposition. The message informed him that
plied troops were standing by to occupy Salerno and urged him to KBe his announcement of the surrender with the news of the invasion
|*Aat it would have maximum effect on the Italian armed forces.
|t backfired. Within hours of receiving the message Badoglio
Ittmed Massingham that the Germans had somehow learned of pannistice proceedings, and the announcement of the surrender dd have to be postponed.
^senhower was notified and the news presented him with a major Kion. Should he allow the invasion to proceed? fe telephoned Dodds-Parker at Massingham and asked if SOE's
ts were secure.
ticking his neck out, the Giraffe replied Yes. Isenhower immediately sent a message to Badoglio confirming tthe invasion would proceed as planned, and urging him to post! the announcement of Italy's surrender.
383
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
On 9 September 50,000 Americans occupied Salerno, the armistice
was announced, and three days later Italy declared war on Germany.
But Mallaby still had vital information to pass on to Allied forces
HQ, and on 14 September London's LOPs and substitution squares
finally reached him, and he began using them at once for the rest of
his traffic.
Allied Forces HQ then took over his traffic, and on 21 September
the round the clock listening watch on Monkey was cancelled.*
It may have been providential - it was certainly a huge slice of 'merde
alors' - that my involvement with Monkey was reduced to a stranglehold
by the contretemps with Duke Street which took place in parallel.
Although by comparison with Monkey it was no more than a domestic
dispute, according to Charlotte Denman (our French encyclopaedia),
it was likely to cause a divorce between SOE and Duke Street.
Trying not to take sides, and almost succeeding, she explained that
the capture of Jean Moulin in July, followed by the arrest of most
Free French leaders, had forced de Gaulle to rethink his structure of
command. The problem was that SOE disagreed with his conclusions.
The general was determined to divide France into two zones, each
controlled by a commander appointed by Duke Street. But SOE was
adamant that the Free French should decentralize, and that the new
Conseil National de la Resistance should be based as far away from
the Gestapo as possible, preferably in London.
'Neither side will give an inch, not that they have one to spare,'
added Charlotte.
She then hurried off to meet Nick, leaving me to ponder two questions:
What had CD meant when he referred to 'a serious dispute
over two messages'? And what was the 'certain action' I might have
to take? Divided into two zones myself, I returned to Mallaby.
On 6 September Robin Brook, the controller of Western Europe,
instructed me to report to him. He was the only person (apart from Gubbins) whom the whole of Baker Street regarded as brilliant, which was one of the few majority verdicts he saw no reason to question.
Tall, slender, with the kind of eyes I'd sooner have than look into,
* Mallaby was subsequently awarded the ME, which in his case meant Master Coder384

STRANGLEHOLD
ie allowed me to settle down before saying that he had a question
•q ask me which I must regard as strictly confidential.
> 'Yes, sir.'
'If I give you the authority to do so, could you break a message in
secret French code?'
• Unaccustomed to senior officers making improper suggestions, I
taped at him in appropriate bewilderment. 'I'm afraid I know nothing
(bout the secret French code, sir.' It was time to have it printed on
•By lapel.
, 'I didn't expect you to. But that won't prevent you from trying,
Will it?'
V 'I suppose not, sir.' I was beginning to enjoy this, which made it
^ven more dangerous.
le^There are two messages I want broken - both from Duke Street
b^Serreules in secret French code .., you probably know him by his
E»de-name Scapin.'
^''Indeed I do, sir. I gave him his English code.'
|,,He'd been dropped in July, and since then I'd broken three indepherables
from him in his secret French code, and re-encoded them
jlcurately. I could have complied with Brook's request in a matter
|minutes but dared not let him know it. 'I'll need some help from
i before I can start, sir.'
t was the first time I'd seen the famous Brook frown, and once
i enough. 'What sort of help? - I've given you my full authority.'
Chat won't help me break it, sir. I'll need as much information as
vcaa give me in case the messages need anagramming.'
: jargon seemed to reassure him. 'Very well. I'll fill you in on
ickground, and then show you the messages.'
ank you, sir.'
i then explained that in spite of knowing SOE's attitude, Duke
thad encoded a message to Scapin appointing Mangin and Morias
'chefs de zone', each to control one half of France. They'd
|<the code-groups to RF section with a copy of the clear-text
ter standard procedure'. But Brook had refused to allow the
groups to be sent to Signals for transmission until all references
j| chefs de zone had been deleted. Duke Street had agreed to do
had sent a new set of code-groups to RF section with an
385
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
assurance that the deletions had been made. Someone in RF section
spotted that the second message contained the same number of codegroups
as the first, and raised the question whether Duke Street was
telling the truth.*
He then handed me both sets of code-groups and a copy of the
original texts, 'I need to know if the deletions have been made. - I
can't impress on you enough how important this is.' He proceeded
to do so. '. . . SOE and Duke Street have lost all confidence in each
other, and Anglo-French missions like Marie-Claire are likely to be
cancelled. As it is, it's been postponed.'
I hadn't realized that Tommy was involved. 'I'll start right away, sir.'
He looked at me searchingly. 'I'm sorry if this is an impossible
question, but how long will it take you?'
I indulged in a Jack Benny pause. 'It depends on what the damn
code is, sir. It could take hours or days, and there's no guarantee I
can do it at all - but your briefing will help . . .'
'Give it absolute priority, and contact me on the scrambler one
way or another.'
'Of course, sir.'
I took Scapin's code to the gents, and decoded both messages while
someone in the adjacent cubicle uttered a grateful 'that's better'. The
texts were identical. It was only the code-groups which had changed.
All that remained was my cover-story.
I returned to my desk, and with Charlotte as my witness pretended
to launch a full-scale blanket attack on Scapin's messages. By teatime
I'd accumulated enough evidence to convince everyone, myself
included, that I'd broken the messages with the help of the charts,
and announced to Charlotte that I'd found the right key. I then
contacted Robin Brook on the scrambler and told him that his fears
were well-founded.
He asked me to bring the proof to him at once.
It was a relief to return to Monkey.
» * a*
That someone turned out to be Captain O'Bryan-Tear, one of my class-mates at
St Paul's. Old Paulines (General Montgomery was one of them) could usually be relied upon to spot other people's discrepancies.
386
STRANGLEHOLD
)n 7 September I learned from Heffer that officers of RF section and
lake Street were no longer allowed to speak to each other, and had
0 meet in 'safe-houses' as if they were in France.
li.'How about Tommy?' I asked. 'Where's it leave him?'
1 In limbo. He's the one I feel sorriest for after all that he's done.'
M waited anxiously for the sound of my favourite footsteps. They
teverberated down the corridor around 6 p.m., which was far earlier
ban usual.
^il had never seen Tommy looking so tense. He invited me to tell
to about Cairo in one sentence,
'('Why waste words?' I asked, and blew a raspberry instead.
tti'm getting plenty of those from other quarters. I'd prefer a cigar.'
|I waited until he was puffing away, and then invited him to tell
tft in one sentence what the row was all about.
|iHe took a deep breath. 'I can tell you what it's not about. It's not
3ut killing Germans or helping agents to survive or shortening the
r, though that's what they all pretend it is.' His eyes were glowing
; the tip of his cigar. 'Robin Brook accuses Duke Street of lying
>ut the messages, and says he can prove it because he instructed
i to break them. They say he's the liar, and that the only thing
(broken is SOE's agreement with de Gaulle.'
What agreement's that?'
hyou know bloody well what agreement , . .' He sat bolt upright.
I;' the agreement which says that copies of the secret French code
"'1st be lodged in D/R's safe [Robin Brook was D/R], and that D/R
jstti't look at them without Duke Street's consent.'
pie secret French code was the only subject (except Holland) that
jnever discussed freely with him, though I'd often longed to tell
I'the truth.
yd the truth was that the agreement was a sham because there
|1«0 secret French code to deposit. The agents used their British
pfor both sets of traffic. All Duke Street gave them was a secret
|ator to show which words of the British poem they'd used, and
|tost they'd deposit in D/R's safe would be a description of how
Intern worked.
Jfbeen silent for far too long because Tommy pounced. 'Have I
nettling wrong?'
387
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
'No more than usual.'
I was relieved when he didn't pursue it, but should have known
better.
'So the question, my friend, is this. Did Brook instruct you to break
Scapin's code, or did he take it from his safe without Duke Street's
consent - they're convinced that he did? And if they're right, how
many times has he done it before? I've got to know the truth ...'
I'd glimpsed his distress at the death of Moulin. This was as great.
'I broke it on D/R's instructions . ..' I tried to say it matter-offactly.
'You're feeling guilty about something. But no one's going to blame
you for this, you have to obey orders sometimes. And Brook can't
be blamed either because Duke Street shouldn't have lied to him. But
then why did they feel they had to? - Christ, what a mess! ...' He
stood up slowly. 'My friend, we're all in the shit - SOE, Duke Street
and Signals. - all because we haven't the guts to talk to each other
openly.'
He turned to the door.
'I've something else to tell you.'
'Next time.'
I knew there wouldn't be one. 'I'd already broken Scapin's secret
code. I've broken the secret code of every Free French agent since
July '42. Nobody knows this but you.'
The White Rabbit turned round. Very white. 'You what?'
'How else could I stop the indecipherables? - Duke Street never
tried to ... and there's something else you should know . ..' I bombarded
him with the reasons the Free French code was insecure but he cut me short.
'And you've only just told me after all this time?'
I did my best to meet his gaze but had no dark glasses.
'Do you think you're the only one who cares about agents, and
that I wouldn't have helped you if I could? Or were you afraid I'd
turn you in?' He clenched his fists but I didn't care because I was
toothless anyway.
Instead he threw his cigar on the floor, and stamped on it until
both of us were extinguished. He followed this with the ultimate
rejection. 'Jesus Christ.' he whispered. 'Isn't there anyone in SOE
who knows the meaning of trust?'
388
STRANGLEHOLD
He closed the door so quietly I was almost deafened.
I I'd lost a lifeline nothing could replace.
(Ie was waiting outside my office when I returned the next morning.
I asked him to come in but he shook his head. His contempt had
matured overnight, and was now as entrenched as my parents'
admiration.
x He told me he'd been in touch with Brook, Nicholls and the Free
French and that a decision had been reached. 'You're to report to
puke Street and show the Free French how you broke their code.'
| 'I'm whatr
|^ 'You're expected at two o'clock this afternoon - kindly be there!'
He turned away abruptly.
(i'Kindly wait a sec,' I called out.
i| He halted in mid-stride but didn't turn round.
ll'He hadn't told me what to say or who the Frenchmen were or
(feat the objective was.
rBut I had a far more important question, and it popped out in a
y small voice. 'Will you be there?'
Ie strode down the corridor in silence.
389
FIFTY-TWO
Man with a Mission
"You're going to Duke Street for one purpose.
To convince the Free French that they can trust
SOE. They'll try to trip you up so be careful what
you say! . . . For God's sake don't make matters
worse.'
(Nick to the ambassador of goodwill, September '43)
On 8 September I insisted on being driven to Duke Street to deliver
my address. I didn't want to trip up before I arrived. Knowing the
quality of my French, Charlotte had offered to accompany me to act
as my interpreter, but I daren't let her in case she gave Nick a verbatim
report of everything I said.
Without an interpreter I could always claim to have been misunderstood.

A young lieutenant who spoke excellent English escorted me into
a briefing room full of Free French officers, and I felt it being redecorated
in high-quality hatred. I spotted Valois in the front row, and
remembered I still owed him a dozen prefixes for his sacrosanct code.
The only face I wanted to see wasn't there.
I sensed them preparing to make moules of me as I followed the
lieutenant to my journey's end: a blackboard which had been
delivered to Duke Street to await my arrival. Its contents were concealed
by a cloth.
Turning his back on the assembly, an example I was quick to
follow, my escort asked me in a garlic-flavoured whisper if I'd like
him to be my interpreter as not everyone present spoke good English (Valois knew two words: 'no' and 'prefixes'), and as the atmosphere
390
MAN WITH A MISSION
needed no interpreting I replied, 'Merci mille fois', Father's favourite
phrase when clients paid him in cash.
'It is now time for me to introduce you,' he whispered. 'Do I call
you "chef de codage", or how shall I say?'
'Say nothing,' I replied. 'They know why I'm here.' And pulled the
cloth from the blackboard.
It disclosed two encoded messages of equal length which I'd written
one on top of the other. Each pair of letters had a number, a format
E, I'd used at Cairo and at countless FANY lectures. At the foot of the
I blackboard there was a simple announcement in large block capitals:
ItLE SECRET FRENCH CODE.
|>, The room was filled with angry whispers. I glanced at my
(interpreter. His complexion was the colour of his garlic. I turned to
llace the Bastille.
Tommy was standing at the back of the room. His eyes were
cased on a point far beyond the blackboard. He was the only person
lose judgement I'd trust to evaluate the effect of a surprise I'd
sared for them which could have disastrous consequences if I'd
conceived it, but it was too late now. I was committed to building
to it.
^Alors, messieurs . , . the messages sur the blackboard are from one
((your agents. Je suggest that we attackez votre code together.'
ffhis did nothing to diminish the whispering.
I'Messieurs,' I said, 'c'est the moment to have a go.'
Hth the help of the interpreter I explained that the messages would
isy to anagram as they'd been encoded on the same transpositionand
that if enemy cryptographers correctly guessed the words
ie message the words in the other would also make sense.
ice my hosts clearly regarded me as an enemy cryptographer I
In't be sure how much they were taking in and it was time to
bem to the test. 'Je vous en prie to start calling out suggestions.'
»e of them did, and the laughter which greeted it would have
credit to a Jack Benny one-liner. The interpreter refused to
ate the suggestion on the grounds that he hadn't heard of it.
^ous en prie to call out another.'
Beone obliged, causing even more hilarity than his predecessor.
|y was looking worried.
391
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'Agents die because of this,' I said.
The lieutenant translated immediately, and there was complete
silence. It was a beautiful sound.
Taking it as a licence to proceed, I asked whether the word 'stop'
appeared in most agents' messages, and if so, why didn't they start
with it?
They agreed that 'stop' did appear, and soon discovered that 'nuit'
appeared beneath it, and one word led to another, as they invariably
did in this deadliest of parlour games, and twenty minutes later they
reluctantly contemplated two broken messages.
Whispering again broke out.
Wondering how best to time my surprise, I began explaining how
the words of the poem could now be reconstructed, but an imperious
voice interrupted.
'Un moment, s'il vous plait.'
'One moment, if you please,' said the interpreter nervously.
A bemedalled officer had risen to his feet and was addressing me
in rapid French.
My vocabulary simply wasn't up to it (though it was slightly larger
than I wanted my hosts to realize), and I didn't understand a word
of what he said. But there was no mistaking his confreres' reactions.
Heads were nodded, hands were clapped, and they gave him a sitting
ovation. His comments must have been devastating because Tommy
seemed to be willing me both his decorations.
I turned to the interpreter. 'Translatez-vous, s'il vous plait.'
He was clearly embarrassed.
'I want to know exactly what he said . . . it's time Duke Street
provided accurate transcripts.'
This didn't go down too well with those who spoke English.
He looked at me apologetically. 'The colonel accuses you of trying
to deceive us. He says you cannot have broken Scapin's code in the
way you have said.'
God bless the bastard. He's given me my cue.
'Pourquoi not?' I demanded indignantly.
'He says our messages to Scapin were enchiffre on different keys, and
that the method you showed us does not apply. He says you didn't break
his code at all, and that Colonel Brook took it from his safe.'
392
MAN WITH A MISSION
There was a chorus of approval at what they took to be my embarrassment.

'Please tell the colonel he is absolutely right. I have been trying to deceive you. It's a relief to admit it .. .'
There was a chorus of surprised approval. I avoided looking at
Tommy.
L '... but I haven't deceived you in the way you think . . .' I pointed to the blackboard. 'That isn't the French code you've broken, it's the
i^ritish. Votre code is an even bigger fuck-up.'
|j Ignoring the gasps of astonishment, I turned the blackboard round. 'hey found themselves looking at two more messages, one on top of
ae other like those they'd just dealt with.
I knew they were code-saturated but couldn't stop now. I explained iat these messages really were in Scapin's code, and had been needed on the same transposition keys, and made them an offer: 'Si |>us voulez, I'll show you how to break them on different keys but
Id have to keep you here a week.'
feThey didn't seem to relish the prospect, and reluctantly agreed to
out some suggestions when I en-pried them to break their own
»
nxious to save time, I told them that cryptographers always
ched messages for well-known names, and asked if there were
famous Frenchmen they might find mentioned. ineral de Gaulle' was called out from all round the room, with f a close second. Beneath general de gaulle some significant
s appeared:
»ENERAL DE GAULLE
GIR
neone called out 'Giraud' (de Gaulle's arch-rival in France who
avoured by the Americans) and a storm of booing broke out,
ttpanied by a few Gallic raspberries.
» minutes later they'd cracked both messages, and like most
played the parlour-game were unable to conceal their sense of
"plishment.
ng that I was about to risk far worse than booing, I
393
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
approached the real purpose of my visit. 'This is the code we now
give your agents . . .' I whipped a WOK from my pocket.
'A good code too,' someone called out.
'Don't take my word for it. Talk to one of your own cryptographers
- you've plenty of good ones. Ask him whether it wouldn't be safer
for you to use the British code for your secret messages than the one
you've just broken. Je vous en prie to talk to him quickly for the sake
of your agents.'
This put the chat amongst the pigeons more than anything else I'd
said. Excited conversations broke out all round the room, and I
noticed Valois whispering to a naval captain sitting in judgement
beside him. The captain nodded and held up his hand. 'I have a
question, please . . .'
'Je vous en prie,' I replied, hoping it meant what I thought it
did.
He seemed in no hurry to ask it, and his colleagues waited in
respectful silence while I dangled from the yardarm.
'If we use the British code for our messages, could the British read
them?'
'Oui, mon capitaine, at any time. Mais jamais les Boches.'
This was greeted by what sounded like applause, though it was so
long since I'd heard any that I couldn't be sure, and questions started
coming from all directions. I turned to the interpreter to help with
the answers.
'Your English-French will do,' someone called out.
An authoritative voice then took over. 'I too have a question for
Monsieur Marks, which I hope he will answer honestly.'
It was the colonel who'd tried to skewer me in whirlwind French.
He renewed his efforts in excellent English. 'Have you been breaking
indecipherable messages in our code to save the agents from repeating
them? - And because you knew we hadn't staff to do it ourselves?
The truth, please . . .'
I almost gave it but discovered I was human. 'I was hoping not to
be asked this because I'm ashamed of the answer.'
They waited expectantly.
'I should have broken them and re-encoded them without you
knowing if I'd been doing my job properly - but I shirked it! I was
394
MAN WITH A MISSION
merde-scared of what SOE would do to me if they found out that
I'd broken the agreement. Je apologize beaucoup.'
The colonel looked at me with a twinkle, then wrote rapidly on a
notepad and showed it to the officers on either side of him. He then
tore off the page and passed it to Valois, who nodded emphatically
and passed it to mon capitaine, who also nodded and handed it to
the interpreter.
A century or so later he translated. 'They wish you to know they
are satisfied you broke Scapin's code, and that Colonel Brook did
not take it from his safe.'
I should have said 'mille mercis' and left it there, but something
popped out of my safe before I could stop it. T have a favour to ask.
Could you please give me another five minutes?'
'Take as long as you wish,' someone called out.
'There's something about the code department I want you to know.
We're not concerned with politics - yours or anybody else's - unless
we're forced to be, which is what's happened today . . . but there's
something you don't seem to realize . . .' I took a deep breath, which
might well be my last. 'The Free French aren't the only ones involved
in power struggles. SOE has its own Girauds, and tells as many lies
as you do. It's unfortunate for you you've been caught out in a stupid
one. Better luck next time.'
The interpreter was lagging behind but I couldn't wait for him.
'I have to tell you something personal. I'm too merde-scared to be
an agent. I sit in the back room and do what I can to keep 'em safe.
And next time I'm involved in a dispute with you, and there's bound
to be one, please remember this.'
I looked at all of them and at none of them. 'J don't give a shit if
after the war your agents vote for de Gaulle or against him as long
as they're alive to vote. So for God's sake change your secret code
because the Boche can break it as easily as I can. Thanks for listening.'
I tried to reach the door but couldn't distinguish between the Free
French and their furniture. They seemed to be standing up, probably
to lynch me.
The colonel put his hand on my shoulder. 'Monsieur merde-scared,'
he said, 'there is more than one kind of courage.'
I knew I'd reached the door because Tommy was holding it open.
395
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
He pressed a handkerchief into my hand. 'Wipe your forehead. It's
worse than Niagara.'
He then gave a wicked impersonation of my accent. 'Le next time
vous et moi meet je vous donnez un kick up the arse. Je shall aussi
want mon mouchoir back, wrapped round a cigar si vous avez one.
And now pissez-vous off. Monsieur Marksiavelli.'
I stumbled away like a drunken matelot.
I sobered up twelve hours later when Gubbins paid me a late-night
visit. (He rarely wasted time on me during the day as he was even
more of a midnight prowler than Hambro.) His face was medium
ferocious, 'There's been an official request from the Free French which
I find somewhat surprising.'
Marks's head on a plateau or we take our business elsewhere ...
'They want you to have a meeting with one of their senior French
cryptographers who's flying in from Algiers.' His mighty eyebrows
arched. 'I want to know exactly what you said at Duke Street.'
'I wish I knew, sir.'
He laughed, and shook his head in despair. 'Merci bien, Leo.'
I envied his accent.
On the night of 23 September Brossolette and Tommy boarded a
Lysander and landed in France to start mission MarieClaire.
396
FIFTY-THREE
Breaking Point
fc)E rarely received official congratulations, except from itself, but
|e success of Monkey and the information our Danish agents had
|rtained about the Peenemtinde rocket sites earned plaudits from
feurchill and the Chiefs of Staff which were all the sweeter because
l^d excluded C from Monkey, and scooped them on Peenemiinde.
|t the glow didn't last long, and between mid-September and the
d of October a series of upheavals and reshuffles extended our
fcuilt absorbers to breaking-point.
|ir Charles Hambro resigned as CD and was replaced by Gubbins.
(Kutchison resigned as head of RF section to train as an agent at
|age of fifty. His replacement (Sweet-Escott) was replaced at short
luge by Colonel Dismore, who chose Tommy as his deputy, a move
rise few of us could credit it.
Iptain Uren of the Balkans directorate was sent to prison for
tog information to the Russians.
ae effect of these developments was to turn Baker Street into a
ag society and some believed it should remain one.
Hambro's Departure
onsensus of uninformed opinion was that Sir Charles resigned
se of a disagreement with our minister over Greece, but that
till be with us if his senior colleagues hadn't been stricken with
^tis when invited to support him.
397
B E TWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
The Arrest of Captain Uren
This was known to few people in Baker Street, and I was unlikely to
have been one of them if Major O'Reilly (my godfather) hadn't found
an entry in Uren's diary (in red ink?): 'Appointment with Marx [sic|
to discuss codes.'
He sent for me and demanded to know what had taken place at
the meeting with no details omitted.
I told him that Uren had called on 19 July to see the new codes
which were being issued to Hungarian agents, and that I'd shown
him a WOK and a letter one-time pad. He'd asked if he could borrow
them for a day as it would help him and his colleagues to prepare
suitable camouflage, and I'd readily agreed. He'd returned them to
my office the following morning.
The major anxiously enquired what harm it would do if Uren
had shown them to a Russian agent. I replied that it wouldn't
matter if he'd shown them to Hitler as they were different for every
agent. To reassure him still further, I added that if he showed them
to Stalin as well it might even help the war effort because if the
Russians copied them the Germans could no longer read their
traffic.
Sharply reminding me that this was an extremely serious matter,
he warned me that Soviet agents were trying to infiltrate SOE, and
that they'd be particularly interested in Signals. He instructed me to
bring anything suspicious to his immediate attention, but didn't tell
me what symptoms to look for.
He also instructed me to give his best wishes to 'little Benny', which
would have been bad security as Father still didn't know that his best
friend and I worked for the same organization, but I agreed to do so
to end the interview.
There was just time to change the security checks of every agent known to Uren.
The worst of the autumnal heart-stoppers concerned two old favourites
(it was wrong to have any but impossible not to), who wetei| causing great alarm.
Noor Inayat Khan (I rarely thought of her as Madeleine) had astot
398
hed all who believed they knew her by continuing to be the only
7T operator in Paris on whom F section could rely. Still living in
aris (now almost as dangerous as Amsterdam), she'd sent a brief
lessage in mid-September naming the few agents who'd survived the
rosper collapse. It was perfectly encoded with its security checks
resent. She resumed WT contact at the end of September and organ>ed
an arms drop.
, Knowing the risks she was taking, Buckmaster ordered her to return
> London but she refused to leave until she was satisfied that he'd
hind a replacement for her. He assured her that he had, and she
fially agreed to be picked up by Lysander in mid-October. She then
Hot off the air for ten days, and missed the moon period. She sur|eed
again on 18 October with a new batch of messages, and
ttfaough their security checks were correct the first message had a
lisposition-key eighteen letters long.
(immediately informed Buckmaster that this was a special security
||dk which she was to use only if she were caught. This confirmed
^suspicions that she was in enemy hands as the style of her new
plages had changed, but he intended to reply to them as if nothing
fe amiss, and to continue two-way traffic with her.
piaid a silent prayer that Noor was having one of her lapses, but
r I was having one of my own not to accept the truth.
e other contributor to restless nights (which Mother attributed
ainutrition) was Tommy.
S and Brossolette had arrived in Paris on 21 September to make
ct with Serreules, and on 26 September Tommy sent a message
i his operator was unable to transmit until 14 October, by which
Fommy had sent another.
s first message reported that he and Brossolette were extremely
"ned about Serreules's lack of security, that the number of
t was increasing daily, and that Morinaud (who was about to
•Ointed one of the Secret Army's new leaders) had been arrested
id swallowed his L-tablet before he could be tortured.
I? second message reported that Serreules had been arrested at
pi of September, and had left a number of en clair messages in
pas well as a list of his principal contacts, which the Germans
|lieved to have found. He added that the situation was even
399
BETWEEN SILK AKD CYANIDE
worse than he and Brossolette had feared, and that he would keen
his future traffic to a minimum.
However, he wasn't completely out of touch with London. Barbara
sent en clair messages to him every day via the BBC which were
prefaced 'Du moineau au lapin' ('from the sparrow to the rabbit').
Another of Tommy's sparrows also had a message for him but
there was no way I could send it. I wanted him to know that a senior
French cryptographer had arrived from Algiers, and that I was about
to have a meeting with him.
I'd been told by RF section that my visitor's name was Commandant
Cassis, that he had to return to Algiers within twenty-four hours,
and that he was now in Duke Street hoping I'd phone him as soon as
possible. I contacted him immediately, and he enquired in serviceable
English if I had a little time to spare. I told him that I'd be available
for as long as he needed, and he at once asked if I would prefer to
meet him at Duke Street or Dorset Square or perhaps would like him
to call upon me.
Sensing from his tone what his real choice would be, I invited him
to come to my office, and he accepted before I'd finished the sentence.
He would be the first Free Frenchman who'd been allowed to visit my
workshop, and I prepared a pass for him without asking permission. I
then instructed Muriel to make no more appointments for the rest
of the day, and to put no phone calls through once he'd arrived unless
I gave her our private signal (two bleeps on the buzzer), in which
case she was to come in immediately with an urgent summons to the
Executive Council.
To do justice to this special occasion, I then went to sleep for fifteen
minutes.
Commandant Cassis was slender, grey-haired and wore his uniform J
as if it were a fine French binding. He smiled at me from the doorway,
took my outstretched hand in both of his, and thanked me for seeing
him at such short notice. He then accepted a seat at my cluttered^
desk, and seemed instantly at home.
I had an unaccountable feeling that I was in the presence of a
Tiltman.
He wasted no time on the secret French code except to say
400
raftsman's sympathy, 'What suffering it must have caused you.' but
»e didn't enquire what steps I might have taken to alleviate it.
He then meticulously examined three WOKs and asked if the keys
»ad been produced by machine or by hand.
When I described how the WOK-makers shuffled their counters
re nodded his approval. 'Safer human tiredness than a machine's,'
ie said, which led us to a short discussion about the problem of
producing figures which were genuinely random.
sf He then asked what we did to convince agents that they must
jtestroy their keys as soon as they'd used them, and I told him about
he briefing officers who instilled the necessity into them by every
Beans at their disposal.
I Again that nod of approval. 'They will not want to destroy such
J' he said. 'Good to give to their ladies after the war.'
; examined the security checks as if his own life depended on
, and decided they couldn't be improved.
hen showed him a LOP. It was clear that he hadn't seen one
Ifore, and it took him all of ten seconds to grasp its significance.
(lone-time pad in letters,' he exclaimed.
Ife reminded me of father holding an original Caxton.
|Enough here for a hundred messages each of the ways?'
poodded.
llAnd the least number of letters an agent need send is ten? - twenty?'
live if all he wants to say is merde.'
e looked at me as if he were an exile in sight of his long-lost
* 'For us?' he said quietly. 'You will be giving them to us?'
'Duke Street will accept them.'
8 pushed back his chair and stood up. But not to leave. He was in
t need of pacing room, a feeling I knew well. 'Forgive me to ask
at time is short. Are you perhaps preparing other codes as well?'
s' I said, delighted to be asked. Without telling him that no one
ad seen it, I showed him a code-book I was preparing which
(1,000-word vocabulary, and which was to be printed on silk
d in conjunction with a letter one-time pad. I explained that
oks would save valuable air-time in the run-up to D-Day and
ay itself as it would reduce the length of agents' messages,
f'i wasn't sure if they could be persuaded to use them.
401
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Puzzled by his lack of response, I pointed out that the code-groups
had been structured to minimize the effects of Morse mutilation a
major problem with all our traffic.
He spent a full five minutes examining this claim, and I wondered
if he'd found a flaw in it.
When he finally turned to me his eyes were as hard as Tiltman's
when he'd tried to persuade me that SOE didn't need LOPs. 'Monsieur
Marks . . .' I almost bowed to myself. '. . . it would be a great
help if we could now talk in absolute confidence ... a very great help
indeed.'
But I couldn't forget that momentary hardness, and suspected that
I'd been softened up for this moment. 'I can't promise absolute confidentiality
until I've some idea of what it concerns.'
He thanked me for my frankness, which he'd heard about from
Duke Street, and said that he'd rely on my goodwill to the Free French
'as to how much I need repeat of the delicate matters he now wished
to confide in me'.
He started with some minor secrets and slowly grew franker. He
had a handful of assistants, some of whom had had very little training,
who had been given the responsibility of providing codes for the Free
French to use on and after D-Day. The function of these codes would
be to provide internal communications with the Free French forces,
and to maintain contact with the Allied High Command.
The problem was that General de Gaulle very much doubted if the
Free French would be allowed to use their own codes.
Careful not to sound as if he were complaining, he said that Churchill's
relationship with de Gaulle hadn't improved, that the Americans
continued to support Giraud, and that the High Command had
excluded the Free French from any discussions about the D-Day landings.
But the general was determined to make a major contribution
to the liberation of France, and one way in which he might achieve
it was so dependent on communications that it was essential that 1
knew what it was.
He then studied the ceiling as if asking someone far beyond it to strike him dumb if it were in the interests of France. Having apparently
received the divine all-clear, he said that shortly before D-Day the Committee of National Liberation in Algiers would announce the ^
402
formation of a new organization which would unite all French freedom
fighters under one command and make them members of the new French army. The organization would be known as the FFI |Forces Prancaises de 1'Interieur), and would need codes which were Suitable for a unique mixture of military, paramilitary and agents'
messages. He confided that even if Churchill and the Americans
.allowed the Free French to use their own codes, they had no facilities
for making them. But this was only part of the problem. His superiors didn't realize how long it took to prepare codes and to train instrucijtors,
especially those who had to do their teaching in the field.
| I realized that he was having as hard a time in Algiers as I'd had
Sin Baker Street, and asked what codes he had in mind for the FFI.
Clearly relieved to be asked, he said he'd decided on code-books
ttd figure one-time pads, as many army signallers knew how to use \em. But he now realized that letter one-time pads might be even
etter! He'd think it over when he returned to Algiers.
ln-sHe then hesitated, and I was completely unprepared for what he'd
en leading up to. 'If I send to you our code-book, could you make
us copies on silk? And could you also send to us the onetime
ds we would need? I would the quantities estimate when I can so
so ...' Before I could reply he stressed that he hadn't discussed
$ with any of his superiors, and was asking me informally if such
|jEhing would be possible.
iyi should have pressed the buzzer there and then because this was
policy matter and I was well and truly out of my depth. Instead I |red at the ceiling for divine guidance and noticed a crack which fcdn't been there before. 'I'll be glad to help you in every way I can,' ^d.
p^ill your superiors agree?'
t've just consulted them. They say I'll need as much time as sible, and that it would be a great help if you'd make a formal Best.'
lis clearly troubled him, and he explained with an apologetic
e which I wished I could add to my armoury that some of his riors might not like the idea of the British providing their codes.
| if everything depended on it, he would do whatever he could. living what I hoped was a Gallic shrug, I said that one way or
403
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
another the codes would be ready when the Free French needed them
even if it meant we both had to take a risk.
He thanked me in the best way a cryptographer can - by becoming
technical: 'You have found a way to protect letter-pad code-groups
from Morse mutilation. Is there a similar way to protect figure-pad
code-groups?'
I replied that I hadn't thought about it but didn't see why not, and
we did some homework together (he was far quicker than I was).
Twenty minutes later we were able to reduce figure-pad mutilation
by 40 per cent, and I promised to incorporate the idea if we hadn't
improved on it by the time we started production.
He then did some homework on my face before addressing me
quietly without appearing to lower his voice. 'We have an understanding?'
he asked.
'More than that,' I said. 'We have an agreement.'
We shook hands on it, and I regarded Tommy as our witness.
We spent our last hour together discussing cryptography, and he
proved to have something else in common with Tiltman: A healthy
appreciation of Mother's black-market sandwiches.
I didn't tell him that I was twenty-three today, and that he was
the only present I wanted.
404
FIFTY-FOUR
Who Stole Your Grace?
Iffwo days after my visitor had returned to Algiers, Duke Street conrmed
to SOE that they were abandoning the use of the secret French
ode. No reasons were given but thanks were expressed for the
3-operation Commandant Cassis had received from the chef de
adage.
yi'd told no one about our private arrangement, which had begun
worry me as I'd entered into it before doing my homework. A
nce Sit the monthly figures (which I'd neglected to examine since
urning from Cairo) showed that code production had fallen by
aost 50 per cent, and I immediately contacted our printers and
ptographers.
[Tie two elderly brothers who printed WOKs on silk brusquely
formed me that they'd fallen behind with their other commitments,
at they were suffering from shortage of staff and defective machin,
and that they saw no prospect of the situation improving. It was
r that I'd taken them for granted for far too long, and allowed
; become 'just another job' to them.
it an even worse situation had arisen with the RAF unit which
ographed one-time pads on to silk. A newly appointed wing
mander had discovered that most of his staff were working for
nter Services Research Bureau at the request of two senior officers
ed Heffer and Marks. He'd also discovered that the squadron
ir who'd accepted the commitment six months ago 'to help us
?f trouble' had been doing so ever since, and had exceeded his
pet without authority. The wing commander allowed us until the
E»f November to make other arrangements.
I could do so quickly we'd have to start dipping into the
405
BETWEEN SILK A N D CYAMIDE
reserves we were building up for D-Day, but I had no idea where to
start looking.
The situation (like so many others) needed a Gubbins to resolve
it, but I'd left it too late to approach him. Within a few days of
becoming CD the Mighty Atom had taken off on an extended tour
of Massingham and Cairo, and his deputy, Colonel Sporborg, was
now in temporary (we hoped) command.
I decided to seek Heffer's advice without disclosing my undertaking
to Cassis.
The Guru wasn't surprised by the production problems, which he'd
been anticipating for weeks, and advised me to consult the 'hard men'
(Messrs Courtauld and Davies), who were continuing to supply all
our silk. But he warned me not to approach them immediately as
they were inundated with requests for help, and mightn't take kindly
to a new one.
He then looked at me keenly. 'There's something you're not telling
me, isn't there?'
Relieved that he was on form, I blurted out my undertaking to Cassis, which I regarded as binding but saw little chance of fulfilling.
He was used to my confessions by now, but this one produced more
astonishment than all the rest combined. 'You've committed us to supplying
them with unspecified quantities of code-books and onetime
pads by an unknown date for traffic we know nothing about?'
I nodded miserably.
Lowering his eyes to heaven, he enquired why I'd left it until now
to disclose the arrangement.
'Because SOE's so unpredictable. They'd either react prematurely
and blow Cassis's cover or refuse to sanction it. - I'm not sure which.'
He looked at me pityingly. 'The trouble with villains like you is
that you never know when you've done the right thing.'
He then explained as if to a cretin (an assessment I couldn't question)
that supplying the Free French with code-books and onetime
pads at their request would enable Gubbins to show the High Command
how much confidence they had in his Signals directorate! It would also enable us to read their traffic, and strengthen Nick's hand
on the Executive Council.
'It might even help the Free French,' I said.
406
Ignoring irrelevancies, he said that it couldn't possibly have happened
at a better time. He then stared out of the window, a sure sign
that he was considering a confidence of his own.
'Go on, Heff,' I urged, 'reward me.'
Warning me that if I repeated a word of what he said we'd both be
in trouble, he confided that SOE had recently obtained sight (possibly
legitimately) of a Top Secret document from de Gaulle to Duke Street
which had so astonished Gubbins and the Executive Council that
they'd sent a copy to Cossac.
'I don't think I know him . ..'
Another pitying look, this time tinged with exasperation. 'cossac
stands for Chief of Staff to the Supreme Allied Commander.' t: 'Who's the supremo going to be, Heff - an American?' ^" His tone ensured that this would be my last interruption. 'The post
Hof supreme commander is still being considered by Churchill and ^Roosevelt,' he said, 'and I very much doubt if you're in the running for
I-'
g^He then disclosed that de Gaulle's document dealt at great length
tedi Overlord, which he'd correctly guessed was being planned for
|srt summer. 'In case there's no limit to your ignorance,' he said, overlord is the code-name for the invasion of France.'
|61ancing at his watch, he quickly explained that the extraordinary
tt of de Gaulle's document was that his plans for Overlord were Saest identical with the Allied High Command's. He'd even worked ft what the tides would be, and had selected the same beaches as ^ High Command. Cossac was convinced that someone in SOE
I broken the strict injunction not to discuss Overlord with the Free
*ch under any circumstances, and de Gaulle's document was now kg studied at Cabinet level. He added that nothing could do more Snhance SOE's reputation than the ability to read de Gaulle's
1-D-Day traffic.
rting me from the office, he said was off to tell the good news t. He'd also try to explain why I'd kept it to myself.
n't point out how easy it would be for Cassis to reassemble
"-time pads, and make it a merde of a job to decipher a single
* » »
407
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Nick sent for me the next morning, and I knew at once he had
something unpleasant to convey.
He referred briefly to my arrangement with Cassis, which he'd
reported to the Executive Council, and then said he had two 'comparatively
minor matters to discuss'. But they weren't minor to me
and he knew it.
Impaling me with his eyebrows, he imparted the glad tidings that
while I'd been in Cairo, Gubbins, Sporborg and several of his colleagues
on the Executive Council had complained to him about the
number of young women they'd seen parading up and down Baker
Street at all hours, window-shopping and making bloody nuisances
of themselves. The miscreants had all been identified as members of
my department (coders, briefing officers and WOK-makers), and he'd
decided that a supervisor must be appointed to put a stop to their
chronic indiscipline.
Before I could protest, he added that he'd already interviewed someone
whom he considered ideal for the post. her name was Audrey
Saunders, and she'd be starting her duties within the next few days.
At the risk of rupturing a blood vessel, preferably his, I jumped
up and protested that the girls' conduct wasn't indiscipline but an
unwinding process essential to their jobs, and that what they needed
was a 'mad room' where they could relax between spells of duty
without risk of interruption. The problem was that suitable accommodation
wasn't available unless they could use Gubbins's office while
he was away.
Sharply instructing me to resume my seat, he said that there was
no point in discussing the matter further as his decision was final, and he expected me to give Miss Saunders a fair chance to do her
job however she saw fit.
'And there's something else you'll have to get used to ...' He then
disclosed that a Mr M. P. Murray had joined the Finance directorate
as an assistant to D/FIN, and would shortly visit every department
head in Baker Street, including myself, to determine our future
requirements. Since my demands were increasing daily, he would
spend at least a week in my office, and I must provide a desk for
him, let him sit in on any meetings he might wish to attend, and
answer all the questions he would undoubtedly ask on D/FIN s
408
>ehalf. '... and I advise you not to even consider misleading him.'
,: He then indicated that that would be all for now, and lifted the
eceiver to speak to Sporborg.
The last thing I wanted was to be incarcerated for a week with a
D/FIN investigator (ten seconds would be nine too many), and I
»as equally reluctant to spend any time at all with the disciplinarian
i^ick had appointed before I'd even met the cow. I resolved to give »oth intruders a lesson in garbage disposal they were unlikely to
Drget. ^
Murray came first, and I was disconcerted to find that I liked him on ight, a phenomenon which I attributed to the attraction of opposites. ^He was unpretentious, had an orderly mind, and didn't need artiicial
techniques to be a good listener. Nor did he try to flaunt his
celligence.
I was convinced within minutes that he was the answer to our
oduction problems, and that his closeness to D/FIN was a gift from
(Sugh. My first step in turning him into a coding ambassador must o win his confidence, and I could only do this by being completely
jc with him - a risk I was prepared to take. I welcomed His
ellency to the code department, and began work on him at once.
ie said nothing about his background, but I learned that he'd been
SOE for less than a month, and was still 'feeling his way'. We
ekiy established that he'd had no experience of codes, and I asked
K'd like to take a crash course. He readily accepted, and I handed flavor to a briefing officer who privately reported that he was the
St agent she'd ever had to teach.
b looked a few years older when he returned (I placed him at
' when he left), and he said that 'instructresses of her calibre must
bit of finding'.
glad you say that, Mr Murray. She's one of six I took on at your department's authority.'
m this admission onwards we were on Christian-name terms
|put him to work breaking indecipherables as part of his higher ion. He seemed relieved to find himself gainfully employed and
methodically through the long list of keys which I put in
him, quickly falling into the rhythm which suited him best.
409
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I knew that he'd broken his first indecipherable when he sat back
and exclaimed, 'Good God.' (New coders frequently said, 'Well fuck
me.' which to the best of my knowledge occurred outside the code
room.)
'Well done, Michael - I'll inform the station that they can cross it off their list.'
He listened to my conversation with the supervisor as if it were
the most important he'd ever heard, and for all I knew it was.
I immediately informed him that there were six girls in Norgeby
House who broke indecipherables the stations couldn't cope with,
but I'd been forced to pretend to D/FIN that they were WOK-makers
as I'd exceeded my quota of coders. 'I've given up submitting honest
estimates, Michael, because by the time they've been cut in half so
has an agent's life expectancy.' I anxiously awaited his response.
'What are WOK-makers? - or did I mishear you?'
Delighted by his priorities, I immediately showed him a WOK and
a LOP, stressing that amongst their other assets they'd put a stop to
indecipherables. Supply problems came next, and Plan Murray was
in sight of its first target.
Watching for signs of inattention (of which there were none), I
informed him that LOP production was on the point of collapse due
to a bloody-minded wing commander who'd given us till the end of
November to take our business elsewhere. 'But I'd better admit it's
not altogether his fault.'
I explained that the arrangement for his unit of work for ISRB
had been 'somewhat irregular', though I wouldn't worry him with
the details now, that he hadn't been told what ISRB did or why his
photography was indispensable, and it was high time that someone
put him in the picture.
Pausing for the smile that never came, I said that the ideal person
to change his or anyone else's mind would be Gubbins, but in his
absence the best spokesman would be senior RAF officers who outranked
him such as Air Commodore Boyle or Group Captain Venner
(D/FIN). 'The problem is, I'm the wrong person to approach them.'
I then admitted that they'd both caught me out in one or two misdemeanours, though I wouldn't worry him with the details now,
and I was wondering whether he'd consider talking to Venner hiroselt.
410
WHO STOLE YOUR GRACE?
: would flatter D/FIN to be asked, and show him how quickly he'd of on top of his job.
; He thanked me for the opportunity I was giving him, but added iat he thought he should know a little more about the code depart- »ent before making recommendations to D/FIN. His training as an
mbassador then began in earnest.
t Despite his reluctance to attend a final code briefing in case his tesence proved intrusive, but I insisted he come along as my assistant, nd the quality of his silence gave the agent more confidence than
Bything I said.
|He also sat in as my assistant when I interviewed six prospective
pefing officers. I wrote down the names of the ones I'd selected, and
|ked him to do the same. We then compared notes. Our choices
|ere identical, and I went up in my estimation.
ply the end of the fourth day he knew what I thought of every
mtry section head in Baker Street, and of most members of the
rarchy. He also knew the code department's every trick and subMge.
ly
the end of the fifth day I missed him whenever he was called
ly to a meeting. I had no idea where he went but he seemed as
to return to his desk as I was to see him there. His absences
ime more frequent, and usually lasted an hour.
it he was present when the signalmaster at 53a telephoned to nrt for the second time that Noor's touch on the keyboard had
Iged, and he was convinced that the Germans were operating her
|He was watching my face while I took the call but looked away
on as it was finished, and pretended to be immersed in an inde- srable which I knew he'd already broken.
i was also present when Nick hurried in, flushed with excitement,
"ormed us that the Free French had formally asked SOE to
' them with code-books and one-time pads, and that SOE had
provided that the High Command gave permission for de
to use his own codes. Nick was convinced that they would »e British had supplied them, and the code-book was already 'ay to London. Murray nodded his approval. *s capture made me forget that his time was also up, and that
>w he'd belong to D/FIN. I told him that as soon as he'd
411
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
finished all his reports, especially the one about the code department
I'd like him to be my deputy. He would also be in sole charge of administration, at which he excelled and I was hopeless. The post
would carry with it a G2 rating (the civilian equivalent of a major)
which was certain to be upgraded if he continued breaking indecipherables
at his present rate.
Looking away, much as he had when I'd taken the call about Noor
he said my offer both astonished and touched him, and he wished he
could accept it because codes fascinated him, and the question of
rank didn't arise. But he was certain that he wouldn't be released
from his other duties, though at moments like this he wished he could
be. He then thanked me for all the trouble I'd taken, and for giving
him an experience he'd never forget.
As soon as he'd left I urged Nick to use his influence to have him
transferred to Signals, and gave him my reasons, most of which I
knew. He listened to them in silence, gave me a very odd look, and
promised to think the matter over.
He then reminded me that I still hadn't found time to meet his
protegee. Miss Saunders, and he was confident that I'd find her equally
compatible. Remembering how wrong I'd been about Murray, I
undertook to see her at once.
I disliked her at first sight and loathed her at second.
As the interview progressed I pretended to be taking notes to avoid
looking at her, but her appearance drove me to the ditty-box:
A long line of lips
The eyes an eclipse
Arteries hardened
Nobody pardoned
Who holds the key
To that self-locking face
Who stole your grace?
To which another was soon added:
Nag nag niggle nag
Spit your life away
412
WHO STOLE YOUR GRACE?
Waggle your acid
In front of the placid
To establish your right of way
Then pick a point
> Peck a point
: Grind it on a nerve
Nag nag niggle nag
Till you get what you deserve
d was obliged to concede that she had one redeeming feature: she
life shoes instead of jackboots.
It discovered that her brother was Colonel Hugh Saunders, who & highly placed in SOE's admin department and was a close friend
|Air Commodore Boyle's, which might well account for Nick's fevolent interest in her.
|ver the next few days I did everything I could to make her life ^lerable, but she was an ardent Christian Scientist and no matter
lit measures I took to persuade her to resign, she shimmered formless
at me and decided to stay. Tired of being regarded as part pe suffering she was put on earth to endure, I tried bribing her
ieave by offering her a signed first edition of the works of Mary
Eer Eddy (one of 84's lesser treasures), but she said that she had ^already, and recommended that I should read it. Desperate to
|p'id of her, I was on the point of asking Nick which of us he prred to keep on his strength when deliverance arrived from an
peered quarter.
ibin Brook telephoned and the edge to his voice consigned Miss lers to the temporary oblivion I hoped to make permanent. He'd ed a serious complaint about the code department from the in section. An important message had been held up because the 's WOK had been sent to the wrong station, and by the time ched the right one the agent had gone off the air. He'd come lAis emergency sked and the message was transmitted to him hours later.
added that delays of this kind could have disastrous conseand
it was sheer luck that the agent had had time to carry
vital instructions which the message contained.
413
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I accepted full responsibility for the error, as a department head
must, and thanked him for bringing it to my attention.
He would never know why I was so well and truly grateful. Nick
in his wisdom had put his protegee in charge of the distribution
department, and it was her responsibility to ensure that WOKs and
LOPs were sent to the right stations. She was assisted in this by her
deputy, Doris Lafosse (excellent), and two capable dispatchers.
I instructed Miss Saunders to report to my office immediately. In
all our previous meetings I hadn't once invited her to sit down or
called her by her Christian name before launching into the day's
insults, but at least I'd acknowledged her presence with a frown. But
on this occasion (my Overlord) I ignored her completely for the
best part of a minute while she stood in front of me, preparing to
forgive.
'Good morning. Miss Saunders,' I said cheerfully. 'I have a little
news for you.' I then congratulated her on creating havoc in Belgium,
and spent the next five minutes exaggerating her mistake out of all
proportion until we both believed it had cost us an entire circuit of
agents and very possibly the war.
'If you have an explanation to offer, I'd like to hear it,' I said.
She stared at the floor, then shook her head.
'No excuses at all?'
She shook it again, this time vehemently.
'I have to say, Miss Saunders, that I have no confidence in you
whatsoever, and cannot risk this happening again.'
She took a quick look at me and seemed on the point of making
an announcement.
'Yes, Miss Saunders?' I said encouragingly.
'You've been waiting for me to make a mistake like this ever since
I came because you want me to go, and go I will! But you're a pig,
Mr Marks - an absolute pig.'
I didn't mind being called one as I had no religious convictions
except in emergencies. 'I'm sure your brother will find you a post tot ^
which you're better suited .. .' '•<
She walked quickly to the door but in my moment of triumph aj
blob of memory spurted up like fat from a frying pan, and stung ~**"
into recalling her. 'One moment, please.'
414
ler hand was already on the door knob, and she didn't turn round.
; have nothing further to discuss, Mr Marks.'
['m sorry, Miss Saunders, but I believe we have ...' That damn
b had forced me to remember that on the day of the mistake I'd
cied roast Saunders for lunch but Muriel had told me that Nick
[ given her the whole day off.
he couldn't be held responsible for what happened in her absence
had accepted the blame for her subordinate's mistake as a depart-
it head must.
letter still, she'd managed to keep silent under duress. What more
ild I ask of her, other than forgiveness?
told her I knew she wasn't responsible, and tried to apologize
only way I knew: 'Sit down, Audrey,' I said, 'and have a cream
e.'
ler eyes quivered and then her lips, and seconds later she burst
) tears.
couldn't understand why because the cakes were fresh.
knew with the instinct of the lonely that this was the start of a
ing friendship.
lut a shock was on its way about my other new friend.
leffer walked in as grey as the ash on his cigarette and advised
to sit down while I heard what he had to say. He'd just learned
n Nick that Murray hadn't the slightest intention of joining D/
?.
6 was his cover-story to extract maximum information from every
'artment head he visited! He was about to be appointed deputy
d of SOE.
He'll be closer to Gubbins than anyone,' said Heffer, 'and what's
re he knows where all the bodies are buried. And you'll be lucky
ours isn't one of them.'
Ie swore me to secrecy until the announcement was formally
fc.
|ttrray's charade was the only example of SOE-mindedness I'd
derstood, and I decided to respond to it in kind.
»»ted until the symbols list announced that M. P. Murray was
:ed D/CD, and telephoned his secretary to ask if I could have
word with him. I was put through at once.
415
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'Sorry to disturb you, Michael, but we've just received an urgent
indecipherable! Can you come over and help us break it?'
To my astonishment, ten minutes later he sat at his old desk with
an indecipherable in front of him, and without a word began working
his way through the long list of keys.
I'd arranged for Muriel to telephone me two minutes later to say
that the girls had just broken it. When I told him the good news, he
stood up at once and turned to the door.
But we hadn't quite finished and I suspected that he knew it. 'Before
you go, Michael, there's something I must ask you.'
He waited in silence.
'Now that you've been demoted, will you be able to spare time to
deal with the wing commander?'
'I've already spoken to him ... it was the first call I made from
my new desk. You'll have no further problems with him. He's confirming
it in writing to CD.'
'Thanks a lot, sir.'
He turned back at the door and looked at me severely. 'If I have
further problems with you, I may have to pay you an unexpected visit
- but I'll make sure that my secretary gives you plenty of warning.'
The second most powerful man in SOE closed the door behind
him. I said a silent prayer on behalf of the first: Please God, take
special care of Colin Gubbins. It takes a good leader to pick a good
deputy ... and can anything be done to help Noor, who knows you
by another name? I can feel her pain from here, and know how much
worse it must be for you.
The mush out of the way, I returned to work.
416
FIFTY-FIVE
The Forty-Eight Mistakes
i SOn 2 November the Executive Council wrote formally to Nick prais»ing the code department's 'outstanding achievements', and as their
l|»pproval was often synonymous with incompetence I wondered what l^re were doing wrong.
|r Three factors may have contributed to our sudden popularity: our
|"@utput of silk codes had increased by 50 per cent (due entirely to Aurray); our briefing officers had learned discipline from Audrey
tdthout losing their allure; and our coders were breaking 90 per cent
F their indecipherables in under twelve hours, at an average of 2,000
tempts per indecipherable. We'd also begun reproducing the Free
tench code-book, which had arrived from Algiers (it was to be used [conjunction with letter one-time pads), but I suspected that the
al reason for the council's plaudits lay elsewhere.
»I then learned from Heffer that they weren't a reward but a down
|aynient for what the council hoped we'd achieve in the most impor- »nt operation the code department had yet taken part in: we were
(Epected to make a major contribution to the latest battle with C.
|rThe civil war had broken out in a new direction. Both sides were
|llapeting for the patronage of some American VIPs who'd arrived
HLondon on a shopping expedition.
IThey were all senior members of OSS, which had opened a thriving
nch in Grosvenor Square halfway between Baker Street and C's ?. One reason for their visit was to investigate the relative merits C and SOE before deciding which contender should have the
Pilege of sharing their business, and their head (General 'Wild Bill'
Bovan) had announced his intention of inspecting the whole of
1-Signals directorate when he had a minute or two to spare.
417
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
The OSS had many functions (some of which we understood
few of which they did) and was divided into three main branches- one specialized in the gathering of secret intelligence, and was the
equivalent of C; another was known as SO and was the American
counterpart of SOE; and the third specialized in research and analysis
though no one seemed sure into what.
Having already co-operated with both organizations in the invasion
of North Africa, the Americans distributed their favours evenly and
a new joint venture with SOE was being planned for D-Day. It consisted
of dropping three-man teams into France, each consisting of
one American, one British and one French member who'd be wearing
uniform (they were fully trained saboteurs, and uniform might save
them from being shot). They were to be known as 'Jedburghs', and
their function was to supervise local Resistance groups, liaise with
the invading forces, and maintain wireless contact with London.
But there was one major snag in the Jedburgh concept. The Americans
insisted on handling all the traffic themselves at their newly built
wireless station at Poundon, which was to be known as 53c. They
also insisted that an American signals officer must command the
station, which would use only American wireless operators.
As soon as they'd got Nick's reluctant agreement (he was in no
position to argue) they made what seemed to them a sensible request.
Since they were 'kind of new' to clandestine traffic, as soon as 53c
opened early next year they suggested taking over the Norwegian
traffic from 53a 'to help them get their hand in', and after consulting
the council (those well-known experts on Signals problems). Nick
agreed.
The decision to entrust Norwegian and Jedburgh traffic to a station
which hadn't yet passed a single message scared the Morse out of
our signalmasters and the silk out of me. But the Americans were
full of surprises (a few of them welcome) and they asked Nick to
advise them on the setting-up of their code room, which they wanted
us to staff with our most experienced coders.
Nick was delighted to agree, and instructed me to prepare to transfer
'the best of our FANYs' to the American station.
I tried to point out that our teams of coders had been depleted by ^ transfers abroad but he cut me short in mid-splutter, and ordered nae.j
418
to produce a list of suitable candidates within a week at the latest. 'He stressed that of all the jobs I had in hand, this was 'by far the most important'.
; I didn't tell him that it was the one I felt least equipped to do.
- I'd lost all confidence in my ability to choose reliable coders. I'd also begun to wonder if I'd ever possessed it.
I'd discovered a flaw in the girls' functioning which I couldn't account
i-for and which I was determined to keep to myself until I did.
l^ii I'd learned that 90 per cent of the girls made major mistakes which
twere wholly out of character, that experienced coders behaved like
teginners when we least expected it, and that methodical plodders, fee life's blood of a code room, were just as accident-prone as coders
|<dth flair.
I? I hadn't realized the extent of the carelessness (consciously, that
') until Noor's message to London with eighteen letters in her transbsition-key.
I'd left strict instructions with the station that, in the f6nt of this happening, the supervisor was to notify me at once and
teprint the code-groups to London.
H-But the supervisor had taken no such action, and if it hadn't been
lit my unease about Noor I wouldn't have asked to examine the
Ide-groups. I then discovered that she'd inserted her distress signal. ":The supervisor in question whispered, 'Oh Christ.' when I pointed (her mistake, and I left it to the most successful briefing officer in
tory to take the matter further.
iut although I'd let her off lightly in case she lost all her selfifidence,
her lapse jolted me into making a complete list of every
||»jor mistake the coders had made over the past six months. It was I Counting the bullet wounds in a much-loved body. They totalled toty-three. - not half as many as I'd made myself but probably "the true figure as it took no account of the mistakes I was sure '*d covered up.
Aen listed all the errors which the coders in London had made itgthe same six months. They totalled twenty-five (Londoners had ier time concealing them as I was their next-door neighbour).
Ettparing the two lists, I sensed a pattern to the lapses which I
n't define.
419
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I then discovered that the malfunctioning wasn't confined to the
coders, and that every branch of the code department appeared to
be flawed. Wrong codes had been taken to final briefings, wok's
had been incorrectly assembled, and LOPs intended for the training
schools had been sent to Nick's office, where they'd languished for
a week. Even Muriel had made mistakes when typing agents' codecards,
and had failed to correct them.
I again sensed a pattern to the lapses but it continued to elude me.
Determined to discover the unknown factor, and hoping its name
wasn't Marks, I re-read The Psychopathology of Everyday Life. But
according to Freud, an expert in off-moments, most carelessness was
unconsciously motivated and triggered by sexual frustration, and if
this were true of the girls I must put my country first and end their
deprivation.
In the meantime I had twenty coders to select for 53c and had so
far chosen only two, and one of these I had doubts about. With less
than forty-eight hours of Nick's deadline remaining, I decided to
pocket my pride with my other loose change and consult Captain
Henderson, the personnel officer in charge of the Signals directorate's
FANYs.
I hadn't seen the attractive Canadian since she visited me with Miss
Furze to debate recruitment, but I'd done my homework on her. I'd
learned that her several hundred charges called her 'Mother Hen'
and knew that they could safely confide in her as she had a liberal
interpretation of her CO's dictum, 'FANYs shall at all times conduct
themselves like ladies'. When I arrived for my appointment the passage
was thronged with FANYs waiting to be counselled, and half of
them were coders.
She at once asked for a progress report on two corporals at 53a
who'd been promoted sergeants. As both girls were high on my list
of gifted 'unreliables', her question enabled me to come to the point
immediately, the hallmark of a good personnel officer.
I explained the importance of the new code room, and said that,
mach as I wanted both sergeants to be part of it, I was extremely
concerned about their unaccountable lapses. She nodded wisely,
which encouraged me to disclose the full extent of the problem and admit that it was baffling me.
420
She suggested that it might have something to do with periods.
s Thinking she meant moon periods, I sharply reminded her that we
were discussing coders and not agents.
I. Permitting herself a glance of disbelief, she explained that girls had ' 'monthly problems' which could well upset their concentration, and
that many of them suffered acute discomfort a few days before their
periods began.
- Having no sisters except my mother, I was obliged to ask 'Mother I : Hen' for further and better particulars and realized from the silence
;i which followed that I'd blown my cover as a man-about-town.
s , Lifting the receiver, she informed her secretary that she wanted no
calls put through for the next thirty minutes.
fe>' I wondered what could possibly take her so long to explain, and awaited anxiously when she began, 'Well now, Mr Marks . . .' She
|then gave me a birds and bees description of the girls' monthly cycles, ,nd I had the utmost difficulty in not blurting out that this was the
iattem which had been eluding me.
;I became even more convinced of it when she said that some girls ailed through their periods with hardly any ill-effects, but that in he majority of cases the onset of their periods made them tense, Krratic and depressed, even under the best of circumstances, which SlOE's most certainly weren't.
"Warming to the over-heated subject, she pointed out that most of
te girls had never worked before but suddenly found themselves in
anote country stations where agents' lives depended on their skill,
nd that if their periods occurred when they were subjected to inordie
pressure it was a miracle that they were able to function at all.
' was also most concerned about how the 'monthly disturbances'
xted women agents, though she understood that in most cases
ir periods stopped altogether when they arrived in the field.
j|It was my turn to nod wisely. I thanked her for confirming what
1 long suspected and said how much I regretted not consulting her M-e as it was obvious that certain measures must be taken at once. really, Mr Marks? I'd be interested to hear what they are.'
«oce more the man-about-town, I outlined my programme for the riation of periods. She or someone she appointed must inform
Ipf the relevant dates, and I would then arrange for the girls
421
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I then discovered that the malfunctioning wasn't confined to the
coders, and that every branch of the code department appeared to
be flawed. Wrong codes had been taken to final briefings, WOK's
had been incorrectly assembled, and LOPs intended for the training
schools had been sent to Nick's office, where they'd languished for
a week. Even Muriel had made mistakes when typing agents' codecards,
and had failed to correct them.
I again sensed a pattern to the lapses but it continued to elude me.
Determined to discover the unknown factor, and hoping its name
wasn't Marks, I re-read The Psychopathology of Everyday Life. But
according to Freud, an expert in off-moments, most carelessness was
unconsciously motivated and triggered by sexual frustration, and if
this were true of the girls I must put my country first and end their
deprivation.
In the meantime I had twenty coders to select for 53c and had so
far chosen only two, and one of these I had doubts about. "With less
than forty-eight hours of Nick's deadline remaining, I decided to pocket my pride with my other loose change and consult Captain
Henderson, the personnel officer in charge of the Signals directorate's
FANYs.
I hadn't seen the attractive Canadian since she visited me with Miss
Furze to debate recruitment, but I'd done my homework on her. I'd
learned that her several hundred charges called her 'Mother Hen'
and knew that they could safely confide in her as she had a liberal
interpretation of her CO's dictum, 'FANYs shall at all times conduct
themselves like ladies'. When I arrived for my appointment the passage
was thronged with FANYs waiting to be counselled, and half of
them were coders.
She at once asked for a progress report on two corporals at 53a
who'd been promoted sergeants. As both girls were high on my list
of gifted 'unreliables', her question enabled me to come to the pomt
immediately, the hallmark of a good personnel officer.
I explained the importance of the new code room, and said that, much as I wanted both sergeants to be part of it, I was extremely concerned about their unaccountable lapses. She nodded wisely, which encouraged me to disclose the full extent of the problem and j
admit that it was baffling me.
420
She suggested that it might have something to do with periods.
S Thinking she meant moon periods, I sharply reminded her that we
were discussing coders and not agents.
Is Permitting herself a glance of disbelief, she explained that girls had
i*monthly problems' which could well upset their concentration, and "that many of them suffered acute discomfort a few days before their
periods began.
I; Having no sisters except my mother, I was obliged to ask 'Mother Hen' for further and better particulars and realized from the silence
aiyhich followed that I'd blown my cover as a man-about-town.
|&" Lifting the receiver, she informed her secretary that she wanted no calls put through for the next thirty minutes.
Ir-l wondered what could possibly take her so long to explain, and jilteaited anxiously when she began, 'Well now, Mr Marks ...' She feen gave me a birds and bees description of the girls' monthly cycles, Sad I had the utmost difficulty in not blurting out that this was the
lattem which had been eluding me.
gil became even more convinced of it when she said that some girls fed through their periods with hardly any ill-effects, but that in
majority of cases the onset of their periods made them tense,
atic and depressed, even under the best of circumstances, which )E's most certainly weren't.
Warming to the over-heated subject, she pointed out that most of k girls had never worked before but suddenly found themselves in
aote country stations where agents' lives depended on their skill,
itfaat if their periods occurred when they were subjected to inordie
pressure it was a miracle that they were able to function at all. ' was also most concerned about how the 'monthly disturbances' scted women agents, though she understood that in most cases
ir periods stopped altogether when they arrived in the field.
t was my turn to nod wisely. I thanked her for confirming what
|long suspected and said how much I regretted not consulting her
We as it was obvious that certain measures must be taken at once. leally, Mr Marks? I'd be interested to hear what they are.' ® more the man-about-town, I outlined my programme for the
tion of periods. She or someone she appointed must inform
the relevant dates, and I would then arrange for the girls
421
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
to be given tasks which wouldn't overtax them. This would apply particularly to coders engaged in blanket attacks, and to briefing
officers giving agents their final exercises, when nothing less than
their best would do. The sooner the information was available, the
sooner we could give the Americans a model code room and ensure
continuity of performance throughout the entire department.
Captain Henderson looked at me as if it were time to change my
nappies, a task for which officers in the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry
had received no training. 'Do you realize what you're asking?'
She then explained that periods were a 'most delicate matter' which
none of the girls would be willing to discuss! The relevant dates didn't
appear on their files, and the subject hadn't once cropped up at any
of her interviews, nor did she think it was ever likely to. The regimental
doctor might know a few of the dates but he wouldn't disclose
them unless instructed to do so by the head of the FANY. It was
essential to respect the girls' privacy, but if I absolutely insisted, she'd
arrange for me to meet the corps commander, though she'd prefer
not to be a fly on the wall as it was likely to come tumbling down.
I was forced to make a guarded admission of my total bemusement.
'It's clear to me that once a month even FANYs must conduct themselves
like ladies - but I just don't understand why they're so shy
about discussing it.'
'Few men do, Mr Marks.' She said it so forcefully that I wondered
if she were married.
'What do you suggest, Captain Henderson?'
'Recruit more girls, increase their rest periods, and send them on
leave every couple of months. And above all, respect their privacy.'
I aborted a poem:
This woman in front of me
Is making a complete ...
'There's one thing you could do, Captain Henderson - tell me some of the problems they bring to you.'
But mother hens of her calibre were seldom taken off-guard, and
she looked at me quizzically. 'If you're trying to find out whether
your name crops up, it's fair to say that it does from time to tune.
422
orry, Mr Marks, but that's all I'm prepared to tell you.' She smiled apathetically and pressed the buzzer on her desk.
But she'd also pressed one in me and I was glad to be dismissed.
he'd made me realize that by the time I'd discovered the dates of
ie girls' periods they'd be too old to have them, and that more
radical measures were called for.
I decided to tackle the problem cryptographically and made a
lanket attack on the girls' forty-eight mistakes to establish a pattern. ut even with the inventory in front of me, pinpointing their 'trying mes' was like breaking an indecipherable with a misnumbered key- hrase and a dozen hatted columns.
j?After several hours of total immersion I managed to establish that
lie thoroughly reliable girl made serious errors during the same four
jlys of every month but at no other time. And that seven others who we equally dependable also made them at monthly intervals, though ^ dates varied by roughly a week. But in all cases the pattern was
nistakable.
I selected six of these girls for 53c, and completed the list with a
ure of plodders and supervisors whose cycles were predictable.
; barely glanced at the names before nodding his approval. I was
ous to tell him how the list had been compiled, but this was ly the wrong moment to discuss the intricacies of female signals. was equally anxious to compare notes on the subject with Tiltman
letchley, but decided to postpone convening a national period
Rtence until I knew what I was talking about, should that time
Ktome.
is mercifully unaware of the other 'curses' which would shortly
due, one of them known as Giskes.
423
FIFTY-SIX
Unique in SOE
On the night of 15 November the White Rabbit returned to England
by Lysander with a female member of the French Resistance sitting
on each knee (accommodation was strictly limited).
The three of them had already become closely acquainted as they'd
travelled to their pick-up point in the back of a hearse. Unaccustomed
to this form of transport, Tommy had prepared for all eventualities
by arming himself with a sten-gun, hand-grenades and a bottle of
brandy. The hearse had been stopped several times by German soldiers,
who examined the undertaker's credentials but not the state of
his corpses. Their final resting-place was a farm a few minutes from
their airfield, and when they reached it they found that the entire
area was being guarded by members of the local Resistance, none of
whom had seen an Englishman since the fall of France. Their leader
told Tommy that it was an honour to be able to protect a British
officer who was such a good friend to their country.
This much, plus an explicit description of the drawbacks of travelling
by hearse, I learned from my old schoolmate Lieutenant (now
Captain) O'Bryan-Tear (the first to become suspicious of Duke
Street's clear-texts). But he'd had to break off when Tommy walked
in.
The details of Tommy's Marie-Claire mission came from little Kay Moore, deputy chairman of the White Rabbit fan club.
Making sure that he was out of earshot (never easy), she began by ^
saying that although his code-name - Shelley - had become part ofjj the language of French Resistance, and a high price had been put on. his head, the RAF still hadn't confirmed the Military Cross he'd 1
put up for six months ago, which Duke Street believed he'd recel
424
Ilis meant that he was still forced to wear two tunics, one displaying
s Croix de Guerre, the other displaying both decorations to convince uke Street that helping the Free French was considered worthy of
cognition.
Having vented at least some of her wrath, she said that she believed
; was about to be offered a DSO for his part in mission MarieClaire. (though the mission was by no means over, he and his partner
rossolette had achieved some astonishing results. sWith Brossolette's support, he'd 'done a Gubbins' on the Resistance ^vement leaders, uniting them, revitalizing them and giving them ^word that he, Passy and Brossolette would ensure that London jBt them everything they needed for their D-Day preparations. He'd
|0 won the confidence of the rank-and-file freedom fighters (I won- fced which girl was the rank and which the file), and the Committee ^Resistance had asked for either him or Brossolette to remain in
|ince when the other returned to London.
laving no authority to agree to this, they'd done so at once, and
t promised to change places with each other at two-monthly inter.
Tommy was to be the first to leave to start fulfilling his cances.
>y warned me that he was already on the rampage for arms and i(ies but without much success, and she'd never known him in a
' difficult mood.
oped he'd rampage in my direction and spent several nights
,ng for his footsteps, but it was a week before he telephoned to at he proposed to call round for a brief talk later that evening «as likely to be there.
plied equally formally that it would probably be convenient.
footsteps had lost none of their thunder nor his eyes their »0g, though they reflected a backdrop I hadn't seen before. The toss of that hearse, perhaps - or some other blackness which he ^impenetrable?
fsted his return in the time-honoured way by silently proffering Wona Corona which I'd kept for the occasion. eemed to be debating his right to indulge in such luxuries while Bid Brossolette was still in the field, but he finally produced a tmatch-box and lit the cigar like the expert he'd become. The
425
BETWEEN silk AMD CYANIDE
contentment which followed justified Havana's existence, if anything
could. But it didn't last long.
'I'm here to talk about WOKs,' he thundered.
I remembered his enthusiasm (he first time he'd seen them and
awaited his verdict like an apprehensive parent whose child was in
the dock.
He said that putting aside t^ security aspects, which he didn't
question, the system was a great improvement on the poem-code as
it shortened the messages and saved time and mistakes. But the silk
was extremely difficult to cut without causing it to fray, and this
often damaged the unused keys. He was convinced that many agents
would give up trying to cut them and risk being caught with their
silks intact. He then opened his briefcase and silently handed me the
remains of his WOK.
The silk was as grey as he was, and was so badly frayed that severat
rows of figures were impossible ^ yead
I pointed to the WOKs on the desk. 'Pick one at random, and see
if it's easier to cut.' ;
He chose a WOK from the middle of the pile, took a small pair
of scissors from his pocket, and a few seconds later cut away the taf^
key as if it were a fingernail. He had a similar success with the nexT
two keys. He then chose another WOK and repeated the experiment
Again, nothing frayed apart from my nerves. 'lr!
I explained that this was the first batch of WOKs on specially
sensitised silk, and that they v^ould be standard issue from now ott.]
I apologized for the delay, and hoped he'd agree that we'd finally g8^
it right, f & ^
(N
He nodded and, to my great disappointment, held out his hand
the return of his WOK. The Tommy of old, who understood childwould have known that I was longing to keep it as a memento.
'You can have this if you like.' He offered me his French match-1
and I liked very much.
'Thanks. How about this in part-exchange?' I proudly handed
the first draft of the Free French code-book, but he barely glanced
it until I told him what it was.
He then examined it page by page, and asked how the
worked.
426
I explained that all the code-groups would be re-enciphered on ter one-time pads, and assured him that they'd be on specially lisitized silk.
He was silent for longer than I'd expected, then said in little more
in a whisper that the Free French 'had every reason to be grateful t an excellent job'. He seemed to have forgotten that they had him
(thank for it.
^You're its godfather, you stupid sod. If you hadn't made me talk iDuke Street, there'd be no code-book.'
|3e studied the tip of his cigar. 'If I'm in any way responsible for t}he said, 'then I've helped to send the Free French at least one Bog they need!' His face was grey with the weight of his unfulfilled
lises.
eing no arms or supplies in the office, he nodded abruptly and id to go.
San you spare a minute? I need your help with an urgent problem.'
|fe swung round at once. What can you tell me about periods?'
@was the first time I'd seen Tommy startled. 'Comment?' he said flex French. 'What did you say?'
epeated the question. hat periods are you talking about?'
ie monthly awkwards. Didn't the girls at Molyneux have them
i you were managing director?'
; Rabbit leaned forward, sniffing the air in the immediate vicinther you've been drinking or you've got some girl into trouble.
11 being unfair to you and it's both?'
d him it was neither, and that I was the one getting into trouble.
; me five minutes to explain the forty-eight mistakes which had ; to research periods, and another five to admit that I had no
lat to do with the results.
cing up to ensure he hadn't left, I noticed that at least one of i held a glint of amusement, and that a Corona Corona didn't
fortably between twitching lips. He then sat at my desk like
Bimy of old, and helped himself to one of Mother's blackt&iest.
A crumb fell on his Croix de Guerre, which was as
i official recognition as mother was likely to get.
427
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Removing the intruder, he quietly explained that he didn't think
he was the right person to advise me, as he wasn't an authority on the 'monthly awkwards', as I'd so delicately described them.
I replied that I couldn't think of a better person: his long experience
of Molyneux mannequins could surely help me use the information
I'd discovered without embarrassing the girls.
He sighed with relief. 'I thought you were asking me for a medical
diagnosis. If you want advice on man-management, that's quite a
different matter . . .'
Recalling his days at Molyneux as if they were part of his childhood,
he said that mannequins were more than capable of looking
after themselves, and that the only signs he'd seen of the 'monthly
awkwards' had come from the male dress designers. In any case,
didn't I realize that his mannequins and mine worked under slightly
different 'circumstances'? Or did I make the coders change costumes
several times a day and parade round the code room holding up their
indecipherables?
At this point I gave up hope of being taken seriously, but should
have known that he never ignored an SOS from anyone in SOE.
'. . . your safest course, if there is such a thing, would be to ask a
woman you can trust to talk to the supervisors in confidence without letting them know you've put her up to it. But you'd have to choose
her carefully.' He then listed her qualifications.
She must be considerably older than they were. She must be in charge
of girls doing comparable work. She must be in a position to give the
supervisor a guarantee of confidentiality, and be prepared to keep it. Above all, she must have the discipline to stick to her brief, which was
to convince them that she was there to ask advice and not to give it.
At that moment there was a knock on the door, and the woman
he might have been talking about came in to say goodnight.
Miss Saunders knew Tommy was the White Rabbit but never
expected to meet him, and when I formally introduced her she blushed
like the scarlet woman I hoped to turn her into.
He chatted to her with the wide-eyed innocence reserved for those who didn't know him, and then said that he'd been away from j
London for a bit, and would she mind if he asked her which department
she worked for?
428
She replied that she looked after some of Mr Marks's girls.
'But not Mr Marks himself?'
'Oh no, Wing Commander. I know my limitations.'
'In that case, Miss Saunders, you're unique in SOE, and I hope
Mr Marks realizes it.' It was his way of telling me that I need look
no further.
He shook hands with both of us, and I felt the remnants of his
WOK pressed into my palm. 'For your bottom drawer.' he said.
I caught a glimpse of his Barbara-face as he hurried away.
i 'What an extraordinary man,' Audrey whispered.
'I suppose he is. Now, Miss Unique in SOE, I've a delicate job for
&u.'
She listened in silence while I explained what was required of her,
nd to my astonishment she not only accepted the mission without
citation but appeared to understand it.
|rsMiss Unique left for the stations early the next morning, and
turned forty-eight hours later apparently intact. Seated at my desk
ifh a large notebook in front of her, she announced that the 'problem
^question' certainly existed, though I'd greatly exaggerated the scale
(f it, and that 'various steps' were being introduced which would
|^lp to alleviate it. However, since they were none of my business
; wasn't prepared to discuss them.
[respected her attitude but pointed out that the balance of our
|ns was at stake, and I badly needed to know the 'dates' of four
^'Coders to ensure that they weren't on duty together.
^ long debate ensued, but Mary Baker Eddy must have been on
Inside because Audrey finally relented and consulted her notebook.
tty seconds later I knew the relevant dates and enciphered them
?;one-time pad the moment she'd left. In the interests of security
j;out of gratitude to Tommy I code-named the four girls Marie
Claire, White and Rabbit.
:hours later Nick summoned me to his office to discuss 'a critical
?pment concerning Holland'. He added that if I had any of
r's coffee left he'd be glad if I'd bring it with me.
ed it with Father's brandy, and set out to hear the worst.
429
FIFTY-SEVEN
The Major Development
Nick was alone in his office except for the shadow of Giskes, and
didn't look up as I hurried towards him (at one in the morning he
couldn't be blamed for it).
He was studying a Top Secret folder, which he suddenly put face
downwards on the desk as if tempted to join it. My Dutch reports
were in front of him, and one of them was open, though I couldn't
see at which page, I put the black coffee beside them.
Finally glancing up at me, he wasted no time on preliminaries.
'According to a report just in from Switzerland, the greater part of
the Dutch Resistance is in enemy hands.'
Clearing his throat as if his career were lodged there, he instructed
me not to interrupt him till he'd finished giving me the details. He
then disclosed that Sprout (Pieter Dourlein) and Chive (Ben Ubbinck)
had escaped from Haaren prison on 30 August, and had arrived in
Switzerland two days ago. They'd at once reported to the Dutch ;
military attache, and informed him, and subsequently the British j
consul, that the Germans had been waiting to arrest them when they |
landed in Holland (Chive in November '42; Sprout in March '43). j
They'd then supplied details of the dozens of other SOE agents iaj
Haaren prison.
Pausing to comment that the coffee was even better than hej
remembered it, he proceeded to disclose the consequences of theifj
arrival in Switzerland,
The head of C's Berne Station at once sent a message to his Londc
HQ stating that the Germans knew all about SOE's codes,
procedures and passwords, and were regularly exchanging traffic ^
London over dozens of captured sets.
430
THE MAJOR DEVELOPMENT
Z's controllers in London then transmitted a warning to their chief
;nts in Holland, which Nick quoted verbatim from his Top Secret
der, a sure sign that it was well past his bedtime: ' "Sister service
ally infiltrated by Germans. We therefore urge you to break off
contact with their agents and keep clear of them. Please warn OD
(itch Intelligence] and other organizations." '
[ thanked God for C's existence but kept the heresy private.
pick's next comment was so unexpected that I had to ask him to
feat it.
;We must consider the possibility that the escape's been engineered
tthe Germans.'
He pointed out that Trumpet had sent two messages in September
jrning London that Sprout and Chive had been captured by the
Itapo, who'd turned them round and helped them to escape so
((.(hey could spread disinformation.
fore I could protest, he added that there was another reason for
ing their story. A cargo ship had recently been blown up in
irdam harbour, which could hardly have happened if the entire
(.Resistance was in enemy hands.
: which point I also blew up. Pointing to my reports, I said that
were worth anything at all then Trumpet was completely
and when I'd read his denunciation of Sprout and Chive I'd
id it as a guarantee of their bona fides. As for the destruction
cargo ship, surely this was yet another example of Giskes at
rt? 'For God's sake, Nick . . . surely SOE isn't still allowing
o be taken in?'
»ly called him Nick to his face but it wasn't that which caused
> go scarlet with annoyance.
l&Said that he didn't object to seeing Giskes's hand in the
Son: it was a sound basic principle. But he took the strongest
ten to being interrupted before he'd finished explaining exactly
B'd sent for me.
Mogized and waited.
JBen began building towards his climax, and I slowly under|is
reluctance to reach it.
gtid that C was using the situation to discredit SOE at the
vel, and the War Office was about to order us to discontinue
431
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
all activities in Holland, Belgium and Denmark, and wherever possible
to withdraw our personnel. He thought that SOE would be able
to resist these orders, but a far more serious threat was being posed
by the Chief of Air Staff.
The RAF had been refusing to fly sorties over Holland since May
and had curtailed operations over Belgium, but as a result of the
latest disaster the whole of SOE's air operations were being reviewed.
The crux of the review was the security of SOE's communications
and in particular its codes. The RAF needed to be satisfied that our
communications wouldn't cause unnecessary loss of aircraft between
now and D-Day, and on D-Day itself. For this purpose a senior RAF
officer named Air Commodore Payne was to visit SOE. Nick would
show him the latest wireless equipment and WT procedures. I was
to show him the new codes.
Draining the last of his coffee, he stressed that the competence of
the Signals directorate was the real issue at stake, and that the scale
of SOE's future operations would depend on the air commodore's
findings. He added that I'd be alone with him for as long as it took
and that he was certain to ask me some searching questions, especially
about Holland. 'You must answer them fully.'
He looked hard at me with an expression I couldn't fathom and seemed about to add something, but changed his mind at the last
moment and yawned instead. 'You'd better get some sleep,' he said.
'He'll be here at ten o'clock.'
Halfway home I realized what had been missing from the briefing:
I hadn't been instructed not to produce my Dutch reports. Had he forgotten to injunct me? Or was he relying on me to use my initiative,
and show them without consent?
Was that why I was being allowed to see the air commodore by
himself ?
I fell asleep wondering.
FIFTY-EIGHT
'If I Should Die, Etcetera9
l the morning of 30 November Air Commodore Payne, Nick and
•ffer held a conference in Nick's office. An hour later an unusually
Bed Heffer warned me on the telephone that our visitor had been
it at' by C, and seemed already to have decided that SOE's air
s. must be cancelled. He instructed me to show him our new codes
>wn to the last detail', and not to let him ruffle me.
Fen minutes later the air commodore taxied across the runway
iich led to my desk, and I found myself staring into eyes full of
id pilots.
Even while Nick was introducing us, he looked round the office as
innoyed that it was still functioning, and silently conveyed that in
i opinion SOE's Signals directorate was solely responsible for the
lapse of the Dutch Resistance and the loss of God knows how
my aircrews and aircraft.
We were alone ten seconds later, and tacitly agreed to become old
sanies.
•Coffee, sir?'
Shaking his head abruptly, he said he understood from Brigadier
6holls that I knew the purpose of his visit.
Fo ground us, you bastard.
Without waiting for my reply, which was possibly just as well,
'glared at the silks which I'd lovingly arrayed on the table beside
kt. 'I'm not here to be fobbed off with SOE's new codes. I want
Isee every system you've been using for the past two years! In
w
ia this stage I stopped thinking of him as Air Commodore Payne
p nicknamed him PITA (pain in the arse), a) because he was one,
433
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
all activities in Holland, Belgium and Denmark, and wherever possible
to withdraw our personnel. He thought that SOE would be able
to resist these orders, but a far more serious threat was being posed
by the Chief of Air Staff.
The RAF had been refusing to fly sorties over Holland since May,
and had curtailed operations over Belgium, but as a result of the
latest disaster the whole of SOE's air operations were being reviewed.
The crux of the review was the security of SOE's communications,
and in particular its codes. The RAF needed to be satisfied that our
communications wouldn't cause unnecessary loss of aircraft between
now and D-Day, and on D-Day itself. For this purpose a senior RAF
officer named Air Commodore Payne was to visit SOE. Nick would
show him the latest wireless equipment and WT procedures. I was
to show him the new codes.
Draining the last of his coffee, he stressed that the competence of
the Signals directorate was the real issue at stake, and that the scale
of SOE's future operations would depend on the air commodore's
findings. He added that I'd be alone with him for as long as it took
and that he was certain to ask me some searching questions, especially
about Holland. 'You must answer them fully.'
He looked hard at me with an expression I couldn't fathom and
seemed about to add something, but changed his mind at the last
moment and yawned instead. 'You'd better get some sleep,' he said.
'He'll be here at ten o'clock.'
Halfway home I realized what had been missing from the briefing:
I hadn't been instructed not to produce my Dutch reports. Had he
forgotten to injunct me? Or was he relying on me to use my initiative,
and show them without consent?
Was that why I was being allowed to see the air commodore by
himself ?
I fell asleep wondering.
43;
FIFTY-EIGHT
'If I Should Die, Etcetera9
i the morning of 30 November Air Commodore Payne, Nick and
ffer held a conference in Nick's office. An hour later an unusually
fled Heffer warned me on the telephone that our visitor had been
t at' by C, and seemed already to have decided that SOE's air
5. must be cancelled. He instructed me to show him our new codes
>wn to the last detail', and not to let him ruffle me.
Fen minutes later the air commodore taxied across the runway
ich led to my desk, and I found myself staring into eyes full of
id pilots.
iven while Nick was introducing us, he looked round the office as
innoyed that it was still functioning, and silently conveyed that in
opinion SOE's Signals directorate was solely responsible for the
lapse of the Dutch Resistance and the loss of God knows how
ny aircrews and aircraft.
We were alone ten seconds later, and tacitly agreed to become old
hues.
Coffee, sir?'
Shaking his head abruptly, he said he understood from Brigadier
Aolls that I knew the purpose of his visit.
Fo ground us, you bastard.
Without waiting for my reply, which was possibly just as well,
(glared at the silks which I'd lovingly arrayed on the table beside
|. 'I'm not here to be fobbed off with SOE's new codes. I want
lee every system you've been using for the past two years! In
filr
t this stage I stopped thinking of him as Air Commodore Payne
^nicknamed him PITA (pain in the arse), a) because he was one,
433
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
and b) because it would help me to forget how much depended on
the outcome of this meeting.
I began my PITA-patter with the poem-code, stressing that we'd
inherited it from C, and that it was the greatest of their many disservices.
'It gives the agents no chance, sir. Their poems can be tortured
out of them, and their back traffic read . .. which is why we've
introduced new codes which '
'One system at a time, thank you.'
He then asked how much reliance the country sections placed on
the poem-code's security checks.
'Far too much, sir. And so did the former head of Signals because
he knew they came from C.'
This angered him. 'I'm not concerned with where the damn things
came from but with the damage they do. There must be dozens of
captured agents setting up dropping operations, and you people in
London have no means of knowing they're in enemy hands.'
I replied that with the exception of certain territories this was
undoubtedly true, which was why we'd introduced 'Stop
there.'
My heart nearly did.
'Which territories?'
I told him that I was referring to Norway and Denmark, where
the circuits were so tightly structured that if an agent were caught it
would be known at once to the rest of his group, who'd report it to
London immediately.
'That's an operational matter, not cryptographic. Are you qualified
to assess it?'
C had done a good job on PITA.
'There's only one thing I'm qualified to do, sir - and that's to show
you how we try to protect agents and aircraft from C's concept of a
safe code. It would take me twenty minutes, and it would be a great
help if you'd point out anything we've neglected.'
He stared disdainfully at my ashtray, where last night's cigar was
almost as stubbed out as I was, then pressed a button on his stopwatch.
This was clearly a signal for the crash course to begin, though
I'd had no chance to structure it.
'Would you mind telling me your favourite poem, sir?'
434
This took him aback, though not far enough. 'WHY?'
'So that you can encode a short message as part of your crash
course.'
'My favourite poem, eh?' He mused for a moment, then admitted
he wasn't a 'poetry wallah' but believed his favourite was Rupert
Brooke's 'If I should die, et cetera.'
I invited him to choose five words from it, and he asked me to
remind him how the damn thing went.
Sensing that he knew it by heart, I declined to prompt him.
He then began reciting the poem like a schoolboy who hasn't done
his homework:
'If I should die,
Think only this of me:
That there's some corner
Of a foreign field
That is for ever England.
And there shall be
In that rich something
A richer something concealed . . .
Washed by the something, s, And blest by the et cetera . . .'
|He added that Brooke had also written, 'Stands the Church clock at
(Sen to three? and is there honey still for tea?'
I: He'd apparently forgotten that I'd asked him to pick five words,
|od I had no intention of reminding him.
Is 'Any five words?'
'Yes, sir; they don't have to be consecutive.'
' "Think only this of me",' he said promptly.
At this point I wondered how much PITA really understood about ades as he had been sent by the RAF to evaluate them, and decided ^ set a small trap for him. 'Please turn those five words into a
Esposition-key.'
shoved some squared paper up his runway and awaited develents.
'He at once whipped out his fountain pen and numbered his chosen
435
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
phrase as if he were issuing a cheque which no one dared bounce. I
hadn't had to show him how to do it.
But I did have to remind him to encode a short message.
'It'll be short all right.'
He set about the encoding without any help from me, and delivered
the result with a flip of his forefinger.
His message consisted of five Latin words, and his expression made
clear that a dead language reflected his opinion of SOE's traffic.
I resolved to look up the meaning of The supra crepidum suter
judicaret' the moment he'd gone, and regretted spending my Latin
lessons trying to devise codes.
He looked at me impatiently. 'If I understand you correctly, because
you tend to mumble, my crash course will last twenty minutes. You've
fourteen left.'
The telephone rang, although I'd given strict instructions that I
wanted no calls until the RAF had taken off. It was from the supervisor
at 53a with news she didn't think could wait. The station had
received its first indecipherable in a WOK, and the girls couldn't
break it.
It had been transmitted by Brossolette's WT in good atmospheric
conditions so the fault must lie in the coding, but 100 'routine
attempts' had failed to produce clear-text and the girls didn't know
what to try next.
I called out a string of suggestions to the supervisor, and instructed
her to teleprint the code-groups to London so that the Norgeby House
coders could help with the blanket attack. I then telephoned Tommy
and assured him that we were giving Brossolette's indecipherable
absolute priority. I'd forgotten about PITA, and found him looking
at me with slightly less than his usual disdain.
Adjusting his stop-watch, he magnanimously announced that since
the call was obviously important, the five minutes twenty seconds I'd
spent on it wouldn't be deducted from the rest of his course. He then
made some rapid notes on the pad in front of him, and underlined
them.
I was convinced they had something to do with indecipherables,
and pointed out that if he had no faith in anything else he was told
today, he could have it in the girls' ability to break them.
436
He didn't actually call me a bloody liar but his sceptical expression
required immediate attention, and I remembered just in time that
three months ago Nick had shown me an astringent memo from the
Air Ministry to SOE which I'd done my best to forget as it was an
insult to the coders. The memo reminded our RAF liaison officer
that it was essential for pilots to be given last-minute information
from the field before taking off, and that if they were deprived of it
because of indecipherables they had to 'fly blind', which resulted in
heavy casualties. The memo also warned SOE that if key information
were delayed on D-Day the consequences to the RAF would be even
more serious.
To stop PITA brooding when I needed his full attention, I explained
how blanket attacks worked, and assured him that the girls' 90 per
cent success rate would be even higher by D-Day, and that their
round-the-clock dedication to breaking indecipherables was only the
fringe of their achievements.
; As a gesture of goodwill, I then made what he clearly regarded
as an indecent proposal. 'Would you care to inspect our FANYs,
|sir?'
j 'God forbid.' he exclaimed.
At which point I realized that I had only twelve minutes in which
'to finish his course.
| Snatching up his coded message, I blurted out that if the Germans
|broke it they'd reconstruct his key-phrase, 'Think only this of me.'
iThey'd then identify its source, and be able to read the rest of his
"message without further effort. I added that, to make their task
| harder, we tried to persuade agents to use original compositions
swhich couldn't be looked up in reference books as they'd been written
|in Baker Street.
1'^ He looked at me in astonishment. 'Original compositions? - Do
jyou mean to tell me that you people in SOE write poetry?'
'We do other things as well, sir.'
'I'm well aware of them,' he snapped.
He then announced that he wanted to see some specimens.
p... now, if you please.'
jj Since writing bad poetry could hardly be used as a reason for
grounding us, I pointed to the ditty-box without disclosing that I was
437
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
its sole contributor. 'They're all in there, sir, waiting for customers.'
He reached into the box, and chose two at random.
I recognized the first from its spacing, and remembered feeling that
I'd lost my own at the time of writing it:
I searched the pages
Now blank
The drawers
Now empty
The pictures
Now faded
The rooms
Now rooms
And nothing more
But could not find my life
I found only wood
In the forest
Only water
In the sea
Only sand
On the beach
I could not find me.*
PITA started his second poem without comment and read it with
such total disbelief that I suspected he'd picked one of a dozen which
were so pornographic that I'd typed them myself. He re-read it as if
he now had the confirmation he needed that SOE was an obscenity.
I tried to convince him that the use of sexual imagery made a
valuable contribution to the code war because it was hard for the
Germans to anticipate and easy for the agents to memorize, and that
we only issued erotica to those whose minds it wouldn't cause to
wander. I added that anything which helped to delay the reconstruction
of a poem increased an agent's life-span.
To my astonishment he replaced the poem and selected two more.
* Issued in May '44 to an agent of D/F section, which specialized in escape routes.
438
I realized too late that C had guided his hand to a batch of poems
which I was equally reluctant for him to see.
I'd marked the poems UFA (unsuitable for agents). I used them
once a fortnight to convince the girls that the Germans could reconstruct
any code-poem provided they had sufficient specimens of it.
I'd composed the UFA he was reading after listening to the traitor
Lord Haw-Haw (William Joyce) extolling the virtues of the Ftihrer
on Berlin radio:
His first few goose-steps
Were no damn use steps
And his opening Heils
Gave his mother piles
For he was still in her womb
When he began campaigning
For Lebensraum
As she felt him growing
His mum couldn't help knowing
That she was housing
A rabble-rousing
Frenetic anti-Semitic peripatetic
Not even the strongest emetic
Could dislodge
When he finally crossed the border
In physical good order
He could hardly have been littler
But grew up to be Hitler.
I'd pencilled the last verse in the margin as it had occurred as an
afterthought:
Although the sperm
Which created him
Hated him
It elated him.
439
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
A bemused PITA then turned to the second UFA as if it couldn't
be worse than the first, and discovered how wrong he was:
She spent her hours
Breast-feeding flowers
Fearful of rabies
From the lips of babies
Her terror of skin
And what sheltered within
Made her humour
A tumour
Malign and malignant
A figment and fragment
Of all that was stagnant
In the refuse bin
Of her unknown sin
At the end of her life
She ignored her food
And swallowed her knife.
'Good God,' whispered PITA, clearly doubting His existence.
I hastened to assure him that we didn't inflict poems marked UFA
on agents.
'I'm delighted to hear it. I suppose you chant them to each other?'
He pushed the ditty-box aside as if it were SOE's future, and glanced
at his watch.
Abandoning his course, I asked how many words he remembered
of the UFAs he'd read.
'Piles.' he said with feeling. 'You seem to think that Hitler gave
them to his mother.'
I informed him that indecipherables were the code department's
haemorrhoids, and that UFAs were the best antidote we had.'... do
you mind if I explain why, sir?' I then pointed out in less technical
language:
440
'IF I SHOULD DIE, ETCETERA'
a) That the speed with which the enemy could break a poem-code
depended on the number of messages they'd managed to intercept
(known in the trade as 'depth').
b) That the more 'depth' they accumulated, the easier it was for
them to reconstruct the words of a poem.
c) That every time an agent had to re-encode an indecipherable,
he was providing them with another sample of his poem.
'. .. now you see where UFAs come in?'
'If you use them as ointment for haemorrhoids, there's only one
place . ..'
I explained that to ram home the dangers of 'depth' to the girls,
and to give it to them as people, I wrote a dozen transposition keys
on the blackboard, all based on the same UFA, and challenged them
to reconstruct the entire poem.
I added that although this extended them to their outer limits
(and taught me what they were), when they found that they could
reconstruct even the most unexpected phrases they worked round the
fclock to keep agents off the air. I added that their 90 per cent success
;rate had already been increased by the introduction of charts, and I that the RAF wouldn't be kept waiting on D-Day for the latest reports tfrom the field.
1. 'I'd now like to resume your crash course -'
|p 'Thank you - your time is up, and I've heard enough.'
|? He then switched off his stop-watch and accused me of wasting |tfae best part of an hour trying to blame all SOE's calamities on the jpoem-code we'd inherited from C, and of giving him a lot of waffle
jabout the precautions C hadn't thought of taking, when all he was
jKoncerned about was hard fact and not inter-departmental rivalries, gwhich frankly sickened him.
He seemed equally nauseated by the array of silks awaiting his
ispection - 'I'd better look at the new codes your brigadier thinks
> highly of. I see you've set them out to their best advantage.'
'Sorry! I'm not prepared to discuss them with you until I've
aswered your last remarks.'
r! didn't mind being addressed by him as if I were an East End
row-boy because that's how Father's career had started, but I
441
BETWEEN SILK AND CYAMIDE
could no longer stomach the contempt which blazed from his corneas
of which he appeared to have several.
I told him I was sorry if all he'd got out of the past hour was dies
at C and waffle; I'd intended to convey to him the very hard fact that
between now and D-Day scores of agents were likely to lose their
silks, and would have to arrange their dropping operations in poems.
This meant that the RAF would continue to be in danger from our
traffic no matter what precautions we took, and I thought he should
know it.
My frankness seemed to puzzle him and I decided to explain it. 'I was hoping that absolute honesty from me might be worth a Lysander
or two from you.'
Without any warning he sprang to his feet and strode to the door.
I was convinced that I'd wrecked SOE's chances, and called out
to him in despair. 'PITA.'
He swung round so angrily I suspected that his Christian name was
Peter, and that he wouldn't tolerate familiarity from a barrow-boy.
'What was that?'
'I was about to tell you that "Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled
pepper" was a code-poem - but the agent who used it spelled pickled
with two 'it's, and it took us thirty-eight thousand attempts to break
his message! I thought you should know we don't give up easily!'
He clearly considered that I was more pickled than the peppers.
Backing towards the door, he gravely thanked me for my invaluable
information and announced with some urgency that he had to have
a pee!
'Second door on the left, sir. The chain needs a bit of a pulling.'
'So does my leg.'
He then went about his business, and I spent his loo-time (which
was all too short) calling out suggestions for Brossolette's indecipherable.
He resumed his seat not perceptibly relieved, and waited for the
barrow-boy to explain the contents of his stall.
Forty minutes later I was convinced that he understood as much
about WOKs and LOPs as anyone I'd briefed. Although he didn't
ask a single question, I could feel his interest growing when I showed
him the Jedburgh code-books, which were to be used on D-Day with
letter one-time pads, and which the Americans had accepted.
442
He seemed even more interested when I told him that we'd mounted
a deception scheme called Gift-horse to persuade the enemy that
WOK-traffic had been passed in poem-codes 'in the hope of wasting
their bloody time.'
He still appeared to be riveted when I showed him a Gift-horsed
WOK, and pointed out the indicator groups which we'd deliberately
duplicated.
He then asked a question which caught me completely off-guard:
'J assume you know about the two Dutch agents who've escaped to
Switzerland?'
His timing was brilliant, and I realized that I'd been handled by a
master.
'Well, do you know about them or don't you?'
I admitted that I did.
'Do you accept their statements that almost the whole of the Dutch
Resistance is in enemy hands, and that your codes and passwords
are completely blown?'
'I haven't read their statements, sir.' It was true. Nick had read
them to me, but I needed time to think.
'Marks, I'm going to cut this short . . .' He didn't specify which
; part of my anatomy he meant. 'What do you believe the position in
Holland and Belgium really is?'
' A fucking disaster, sir.
'Well?'
The honest way to answer him would be to show him my Dutch
and Belgian reports but I still didn't know if I was supposed to let
him see them. I knew that I was going to, and decided I'd need
|a cover-story to protect me from the charge of wilfully disobeying
I orders.
g I'd maintain that he'd asked me for a report on security checks
| but the bastard had so flustered me that I'd shown him the wrong
^documents, and he was halfway through them before I'd realized my
^nistake, an explanation so improbable that SOE might believe it.
jfiut I'd need pita's co-operation, and didn't know how to get it.
p" 'Take your time, old chap. I want your considered opinion.'
p'-^His use of 'old chap' could only have come from the old chap
jupstairs as it was Father's way of comforting me from childhood
443
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
onwards. I started considering what Dad would do if he had PITA
to deal with.
He had one trick for which he was infamous. "Whenever he was
ready to bid for a library he'd conceal two pieces of paper with a
different offer written on each. He'd then invite the vendor to write
down what he thought his library was worth while he pretended to
do the same. As soon as he saw the vendor's estimate, he'd produce
whichever piece of paper was closest to it, and the deal was done.
I decided to adopt his technique in a worthier cause.
'I'd better show you these, sir.' I unlocked my centre drawer and
produced three folders. 'These will give you an analysis of every
Dutch and Belgian agent's security checks from '42 onwards .. .'
They were in fact my Dutch reports, and I now had to persuade
PITA to insist on seeing them.
'Oh Christ, sir! I've just realized I'm not allowed to show these to
anyone! SOE has some very strict rules.'
He bridled at being considered anyone. 'I suspect Brigadier Nicholls
would make an exception, but we needn't trouble him. You don't
have to show them to me - you can summarize them,'
'I really think it would be better if you read them, sir.'
'I'll be the judge of that. Summarize them.'
I need a cover story, you prick. If I show you something I'm not
supposed to it's because I made a mistake. Mea culpa, SOE, mea
maxima culpa (another Latin phrase I had good reason to know).
'I wish you would accept my judgement, sir, if only on this. It
really would be better if you read at least one of them.'
'I've already told you my decision. Now kindly get on with it.'
Although I outranked him, being a civilian, I couldn't force him
to read what he didn't want to, and had only one hope left.
The folder I most wanted him to see 'slipped' from my fingers and
fell open at page one, which was headed 'Plan Giskes' (I admitted in
the first paragraph that I'd no authority to launch it).
He glanced at it perfunctorily, then stiffened slightly and picked the - folder up. He read the whole of page one, then looked up at me
with a glimmer of understanding. 'I must insist on reading your
reports on Dutch and Belgian security checks. Shall I contact Brigadier
Nicholls?'
444
'That won't be necessary, sir - but may I leave them with you while
I go next door to help with that indecipherable?'
His abrupt nod concluded the deal.
'Would you like some coffee?'
'Black and strong, please.'
He put the folders face downwards on the desk when Muriel arrived
with her tray. Staring at the selection of cream cakes she'd reserved
for the occasion, he informed her that they'd help him to digest 'Mr
Marks's reports on security checks.'
She knew at a glance what I'd given him to read but left without
comment.
PITA picked up the folders and weighed them by the ounce. 'Come
back in an hour.'
'Right, sir, but if you need me for any reason, just press that
intercom.'
'I'll try to avoid it,' he said, and began sipping his coffee.
The indecipherable was waiting on Muriel's desk.
Dispossessing her, I completed two new sets of blanket attacks and
dispatched them to the station and to the Norgeby House coders with
instructions to the supervisors to monitor the girls' progress as the
; procedures would be new to them.
| I made a dozen attempts myself, and by sheer luck discovered
I Brossolette's mistake. He'd chosen one key from the first line of his
| silk and the other from the third instead of using them in pairs the
'j, way they were printed. I telephoned Tommy to tell him the message
| was out and cancelled the blanket attacks.
I The indecipherable forced me to accept that even with silks no misI
take
was so improbable that our agents wouldn't make it, and I began
I preparing a new series of blanket attacks for WOK malefactors.
f I was startled when Muriel warned me that the air commodore's
^time was up.
I wondered if the same could be said of SOE's.
TA was staring at my favourite patch of ceiling. The folders were
tightly closed as his face. He waited until I was seated before
lowledging my return.
445
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'How's the indecipherable?'
'The girls broke it after 800 attempts.'
He made no comment and continued staring at the ceiling. 'I have
only one question,' he finally announced.
He relapsed into silence he showed no signs of breaking.
A sliver of panic began crawling up my spine. He should have had
a spate of questions. One sounded ominous.
To ease the tension, I laid odds on what it was: 2-1 it was about
the results of Plan Giskes, 5-1 it was about the 'Heil Hitler' call-sign,
10-1 it was about the Dutch agents who'd been allowed access to
the Belgian escape lines . . .
But PITA had something more important on his mind: 'Where did
you get those incredible cream cakes?
I saw that two had disappeared, and was spared the embarrassment
of answering him when he patted his stomach and said it would be
a kindness to his tailor if I withheld the information.
Showing little benevolence himself, he brusquely announced that
there was nothing in the reports I'd shown him that we needed to
discuss. He then patted his stomach again, and I'd have liked to help
him. 'I've seldom enjoyed a better cup of coffee - visiting SOE has
some advantages.'
He glanced at his watch, and stood up abruptly. 'It's time I called
on Brigadier Nicholls. Perhaps you'd point me in the right direction.'
What else have I been trying to do the whole bloody morning?
'I'll take you to his office, sir.'
We walked into silence down the longest corridor I'd known.
'I've another question for you,' he finally announced.
He was in no hurry to ask it, but I didn't reopen my betting-shop.
'Was it true what you told me about Peter Piper and his peck of
pickled peppers?'
'Absolutely true, sir - but not the whole truth.'
'I thought as much. I can manage the rest of the way, thank you.'
He nodded abruptly and I began the long trek home but he at once
called me back in a coup de grace tone.
I turned to face the firing-squad, and perspiration was my blindfold.
'Leo, I've a bit of advice for you. No matter what happens to SOE
in the short-term, keep your pickled pepper up and push on with
446
your job. The code war, as you call it, isn't over yet. Oh, and while
I think of it - that security check bumph was a great help to me but
I don't propose to tell anyone I've seen it. Goodbye, old chap.'
Ten minutes later I discovered the meaning of The supra crepidum
suter judicaret':
'A wise cobbler should not judge above his last'.
A far from wise head of Codes had to wait twelve hours before
learning from Heffer what PITA had said to him and Nick at their
second conference.
He'd been very impressed by our new codes and security checks,
and by all that he'd heard about the quality of our FANYs! He'd
also been impressed by our new WT sets and equipment. But above
all, he was satisfied that we'd learned from our mistakes, and would
be able to cope with the problems of the D-Day traffic, and intended
to say so in his report to the ministry. He also intended to recommend
that the ban on flights over Holland must continue, and that in the
short term sorties over Belgium must be cancelled or curtailed.
'He's done all he can to let us off lightly,' said Heffer. 'The trouble
is he's been overrruled.' He then disclosed that, without warning to
SOE, the head of Bomber Command had cancelled all our air ops.
over Western Europe. 'He's been got at by C, but grounding us isn't
enough for them. They're trying to persuade the War Office to close
us down completely, and if Gubbins doesn't catch the next plane
home, they've a damn good chance of succeeding!'
I thanked him for the information and turned to go, but he called
me back as sharply as PITA had.
'Payne made a comment about you which puzzled us. He said that
to prove some point you were trying to make, you insisted on showing
him some Top Secret documents.'
I vowed never to trust another cobbler. 'Top Secret documents,
Heff?'
'He described them as UFAs, and we couldn't admit that we had no idea what he was talking about. Perhaps you'd care to enlighten
us when you have a moment?'
I assured him that I would.
» » »
447
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Two days later a first edition of Peter Piper's Practical Principles of
Plain and Perfect Pronunciation, 1819 was acquired by 84.
I tried to buy it from them at cost so that I could present it to a
friend, but according to Father (the biggest cobbler of us all) the
British Museum had stepped in first.
Convinced that my friend and I would never meet again, I wrote
a short UFA in his memory:
Think only this of me
That there's some corner
Of an SO E barrow-boy
That is forever PITA.
The girls failed to break it.
448
FIFTY-NINE
The Invisible Presence
Gubbins had been in the Middle East for six weeks and SOE regretted
every year of them. His deputy, Sporborg, had kept him fully informed
about the crisis in London and expected him to fly back while we
were still in business, but on 3 December Gubbins sent him a message:
. . . ESSENTIAL TO REMAIN CAIRO TILL CHURCHILL BACK FROM
TEHERAN. AM CONFIDENT CRISIS CONTAINABLE ON LINES
AGREED WITH SELBORNE OUR TELEGRAMS OF 2ND. ALSO CONFIDENT
ATTLEE (DEPUTY PRIME MINISTER) WILL DEFER
FURTHER MEASURES TILL ABLE CONSULT CHURCHILL. EXPECT
RETURN LONDON MID-DECEMBER. FURTHER MESSAGE
FOLLOWS.
Heffer, seldom a pessimist unless he was happy, was convinced
that SOE would be disbanded if the Mighty Atom didn't catch the
next plane home. Nor did he share his confidence in Lord Selborne's
ability to defend us in Cabinet.
On 4 December the minister's personal assistant was dispatched
to Baker Street on a fact-finding mission, and was escorted into my
office by Sporborg and Nick.
She was a red-haired sledgehammer named Pat Hornsby-Smith. Her manner was brusque, her figure superb, and her voice had parquet flooring. She at once admitted that she knew nothing about codes, and spent the next thirty minutes asking highly perceptive questions 'about each silk she was shown. She then made several jokes at her own expense which convulsed Sporborg and Nick, a sure sign of the jAnportance of her visit.
449
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
An hour later she enquired with a hint of provocation if there was
anything else I'd like her to look at.
The wrong person to be asked such a question, I made the mistake
of producing an artefact which even Nick hadn't seen as it had only
arrived that morning from the Thatcher Barn.
It looked like an ordinary pocket handkerchief, and in case she
was tempted to blow her nose on it I hastily handed her a torch
which had been fitted with an ultra-violet beam, and invited her to
switch it on. A few seconds later she was astonished to find herself
staring at 100 WOK-keys which had been invisibly printed.
'. . . it would be useless without this, Miss Hornsby-Smith.'
I then picked up an ordinary-looking pencil which it had taken
Elder Wills six months to produce. Praying it would work, I rubbed
it across the handkerchief and a whole line of WOK-keys disappeared.

I then explained that the chemicals in the pencil ensured that the
keys could be permanently erased the moment they'd been used, and
her response was immediate.
'So if the handkerchief is captured the back messages are safe?'
Impressed by her perception but disturbed by her enthusiasm, I
hastily added that invisible codes weren't for general issue as they
could only be used in special circumstances.
This didn't deter my visitors from testing Wills's wizardry (ladies
first), and Nick accidentally erased three lines of keys.
The sledgehammer then asked for a specimen of every silk she'd
seen 'with instructions attached' so that she could explain them to
the minister. She was particularly keen to show him the handkerchief
and pencil, but I had to explain that they were the first examples of
their kind the Thatched Barn had produced, and I'd promised Elder
Wills not to part with them.
Giving me a look which she would one day bestow on the House
of Lords when she was Baroness Hornsby-Smith, she declared that
they'd be far more use in the minister's hands than languishing on
my desk and, after a warning glance from Sporborg and some eyebrow
Morse from Nick, I reluctantly surrendered them.
Locking them in her briefcase with an array of silks I couldn't
spare, she thanked me for trusting her with them (another joke
450
THE INVISIBLE PRESENCE
perhaps?), and departed five minutes later to accompany Nick on a tour of the stations.
I subsequently learned from Heffer that she'd christened the silks
'toys' and the coders 'Marks's harem'. He didn't disclose what she'd
christened me.
My encounter with her had been a wholly new experience not
because she was a Minister's PA but because I'd been supported
throughout by an invisible presence.
This wasn't the moment to dwell on who she was, or how I'd been
lucky enough to meet her, or any other such trivia. All that mattered to me was that she'd become part of the code war, and that I wanted
her beside me for the rest of my life.
Although Selborne relied on the old hands in Baker Street for ammunition
to convince the Cabinet that SOE's activities were an asset, it
wasn't the Executive Council, the country sections or the Signals
directorate which enabled him to make his first breakthrough. It was
Flemming Muus of Denmark.
; In the nine months since this remarkable agent (the Danish equivalent
of Tommy) had taken control of his country's Resistance, he'd
i not only succeeded in ensuring that SOE continued to receive key
| information about the rocket sites at Peenemiinde; he'd welded his
I, co-patriots into a Secret Army, organized over 900 acts of sabotage,
land started a training school at Zeeland for would-be agents.
| Although reluctant to leave Denmark, he'd been recalled to London ' in October for consultations with Commander Hollingsworth and
,; the Free Danish Council, and Lord Selborne had decorated him with
| the DSO on King George VI's behalf.
I: I'd given him a code-briefing early in November, and he was as
g; hearty and forthcoming as when I'd briefed his Table Top team. He
g admitted it was hard to concentrate on codes when he had so much
else to attend to, and we arranged to meet again before he left, which Ite estimated would be within two weeks 'at the outsidest.' ? On 2 December he was still in London, and accompanied Com- ?nander Hollingsworth to a conference convened by Brigadier jMockler-Ferryman (head of the Western directorate). Neither they nor feiny of the other officers present knew why they'd been summoned.
451
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
They were informed by Mockler-Ferryman that SOE had been
instructed by the War Office to cease all operations in Denmark
Holland and Belgium until further notice. They were also told that
the War Office required an acknowledgement of the order by ten
o'clock next morning, and wanted draft plans to be submitted for
the recalling of SOE personnel.
On 3 December an enraged Muus descended on Whitehall, accompanied
by Mockler-Ferryman and Hollingsworth, who soon found
themselves redundant.
Determined to prove with the plain-speaking for which he was
famous that there was no danger of his country becoming another
Holland, he bombarded the War Office and Air Ministry with facts
about the Danish Resistance of which they were completely unaware.
The War Office withdrew its embargo, and the Air Ministry agreed to
resume sorties over Denmark - with the exception of certain areas which
Muus pointed out were too well protected for the aircrews' safety.
He was due to return to Denmark on 11 December to attend to
his lesser duties, and on 9 December I gave him his final code-briefing.
The invisible presence sat next to him throughout, and when he
thanked me for the WOKs and LOPs he was taking home with him,
she kissed him goodbye on his invaluable forehead.
Her name was Ruth, and she lived with her parents in a flat in
Park West, and we'd met two months ago in unpromising circumstances.
She enjoyed the swimming pool, and early one morning she'd
caught me swinging across the rings in my bowler hat, which I'd
doffed to her without falling in, and even that hadn't prevented her
from seeing me again.
Although we were able to meet for only a few hours a week, every
sked with her taught me that there were forms of communication
which I didn't know existed. I learned that she had a Jewish mother
and a Catholic father, which meant that I could safely take her home
to my parents as she was half a nice Jewish girl.
I'd persuaded her that I worked in an admin office in Baker Street
and she wondered if it was the 'funny outfit' which used to be run
by her godfather. She then informed me that he lived in Park West
- 'His name's Charles Hambro and he's a merchant banker.'
I told her that he'd need to be as he was a customer of my father's.
452
THE INVISIBLE PRESENCE
I did my best not to think about her in Baker Street (if agents could
cut away their silk life-lines, so could I) but my best wasn't good
enough, and I could think of little else. I'd been worried about going
to bed with her in case I talked in my sleep but soon discovered that
she was my sleep.
We both tried to forget that she was returning to Canada shortly
before Christmas to resume training at an air-ambulance base.
On 10 December Sporborg warned Gubbins in his strongest telegram yet
that C and the Air Ministry were broadening the scope of their attack
and were trying to force an enquiry into 'every aspect' of S 0 E 's activities.
(He'd underlined 'every aspect' in red ink, for which there was no cipher
equivalent, so we repeated the phrase in case eagle-eye missed it.)
The warning had the desired effect, and on 11 December Gubbins
flew to Algiers en route to London.
By the Mighty Atom's standards, he'd failed to accomplish his
Middle East master plan. By anyone else's, his successes were
phenomenal. Ignoring the climatic conditions (and possibly causing
them), he'd not only established SOE's future role in the Balkans,
which the Americans were trying to diminish; he'd reorganized
Cairo and Massingham, sorted out the chaos in Greece, and sold
SOE's potential to a general named Elsenhower. He'd even found
time to convince Marshal Tito of Yugoslavia that SOE would
send his partisans the arms and supplies they needed, though the
same assurances had been given to his rival Mihailovic.
He arrived in Baker Street on 16 December, and at once composed
a memorandum for the Cabinet and Chiefs of Staff which Nick
described to Heffer as 'a masterpiece', a term he usually reserved for
Signals equipment.
With the Mighty Atom now in control of the Whitehall conflict,
it was possible to concentrate on SOE's other little war.
On 18 December Dourlein and Ubbrinck (the Dutch escapees) sent
a message from Spain amplifying their warnings that all Dutch radio
links were in enemy hands, and identifying the WT operators they'd
encountered in Haaren prison (the two agents had been smuggled
out of Switzerland by MI 6).
On 22 December Flemming Muus reported from Copenhagen that
453
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
the decisions reached in London had been fully implemented, and
Denmark had been divided into six military districts, each supervised
by a regional committee on which SOE was represented. All this in
a tiny country infested with Germans.
It was a very different situation for the Free French and Buckmaster.
On 23 December messages from France warned both Duke Street
and F section that shortage of supplies was forcing agents to take
unnecessary risks in order to survive, and that many of them had
been caught by the Gestapo or the Vichy police. The messages urged
SOE to resume dropping operations.
On Christmas Eve I learned from Ruth's father that she'd been
killed in a plane crash in Canada. I went up to the roof of Norgeby
House, which was the closest I could get to her.
Someone called out, 'There's an idiot on the roof.'
There was a quick way down from it, but she wouldn't have
approved. Looking up at God's pavement for signs of new pedestrians,
I transmitted a message to her which I'd failed to deliver
when I'd had the chance:
The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.
End of sked.
I went downstairs and wished the girls a Happy Christmas.
454
SIXTY
Fumigated
'It's impossible to share premises with the country
stations. They don't bother to make appointments,
hold endless conferences in corridors, and take the
lot of us for granted. Well, it's damn well got to
stop.'
(Heffer, when he'd been interrupted from his
newspaper once too often)
The Signals directorate began the New Year by seeking selfcontainment,
and on 1 January 1944 Nick and his department heads
left Norgeby House and occupied the whole of Montagu Mansions,
a block of flats off Baker Street where we'd be cut off from the rest
of SOE yet within easy reach (the Guru thought too easy) of the
I country sections. The Signals Office, teleprinter rooms and distrit
bution departments remained in situ for practical reasons. Nor did
l^we disturb the WOK-makers as some of them could no longer see
J Straight, and mightn't have found the new premises.
t Our departure enabled Gubbins to reshuffle Norgeby House. He'd ||k»ng wanted all the country sections under one roof, and he at once ordered Tommy and Co. to leave Dorset Square and occupy the space pre'd vacated, a decision which gave the Free French the illusion of |arity with Buckmaster.
11 learned from Tommy (who disliked sharing premises with Maurice's lot') that my old office was to be used by the head of RF |edon, 'once it had been fumigated'.
^My new one was soon in need of similar treatment. It was twice
J| size of my previous office, and I had it entirely to myself. The
455
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
windows were heavily barred, in keeping with my chest, and I kept
the curtains drawn as the room was at street level and there was no
longer anything I wanted to look out on.
Muriel had covered the walls with silks, which were concealed
behind drapes. Fluorescent lights shone on to them whenever I could
find the switch, and although it was against the rules for low-levels
like me to have carpets in their offices, she'd found one which matched
the drapes. But my most unexpected acquisition was a fany sergeant
named Penelope Wyvol-Thompson. Formerly a coder, then a WOKmaker,
she'd become Muriel's assistant and now spent most of her
time ensuring that 'no-one interfered with the little man's privacy'.
As a bodyguard she was worth her weight in WOKs.
Unable to settle down, I spent the first day inspecting the premises,
and spotted a slender young secretary named Anne Turner struggling
to carry a large typewriter down the corridor.
To her astonishment and mine I took the machine from her and
carried it to the typing pool's office, where she thanked
me profusely in front of her awestruck colleagues. Although to my
regret she never worked for the code department, she was destined
to make a contribution to it of which at the time she was mercifully
unaware.*
I returned to my office and tried to make a home of it.
By mid-January the demands for silks had become impossible to
meet. The Free French wanted 1,000 more copies of the FFI codebook,
country sections had doubled their D-Day estimates (if only
half of their operations were mounted, the invasion would be
superfluous), and Italy, Cairo and India had increased their orders
by 50 per cent.
But our greatest problems were caused not by SOE's expansion
but by Pat Hornsby-Smith.
The sledgehammer had phoned three times to demand more 'toys
for the minister, and on Nick's instructions I'd supplied them immediately.
But it wasn't the handfuls of silks she required which put us
under pressure; it was the use Selborne made of them.
* Some fifty years later Anne typed the whole of this book, probably on the same
machine.
456
I'd no idea whom he showed them to, but within hours of the last
delivery 'outside organizations' (including C) began bombarding Nick
with requests to call at Baker Street to inspect our codes. He agreed
to every request, except C's (he was discussing it with The Executive
Council), and by the middle of January my office had become
London's leading toyshop.
Most of the visitors seemed impressed by the silks, but to my relief
none of them tried to place any orders.
Nick had twice warned me (once in writing to stress that he meant
it) that if any organizations made direct contact with me I must refer
them to him for screening before agreeing to an appointment. It
wasn't long before this contingency arose.
On 18 January Muriel informed me that a Captain Astor was in
her office. She added that he was a member of the SAS, and that
he'd called on the off-chance that I'd see him without an appointment!
Liking the sound of a captain who took off-chances, I told her
that I'd give him a quarter of an hour as soon as she'd checked his
credentials.
Five minutes later a fair-haired young captain appeared on the
threshold, but at once turned to leave when he saw that I was on the ^iphone. Unaccustomed to such consideration, I beckoned him to a xchair whilst I finished talking to the Grendon supervisor in shorthand.
|Ne spent the time staring apprehensively at the blackboard, on which
1-I'd written a famous quotation from Frances Croft Cornford for the
I'coders to reconstruct at my next lecture (I'd produced no poems of
| my own since Xmas Eve):
0 fat white woman whom nobody loves,
Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
Replacing the receiver, I asked Captain Astor how I could help im.
: He replied that the SAS needed an expert to advise them on codes, nd if possible to supply them, and he'd reason to believe he'd come
*' the right person.
457
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
I knew nothing about the SAS except that they operated behind
enemy lines and had been founded by a maverick young officer named
David Stirling, who sounded as if he were SOE-minded.
So did Captain Astor, but before I could allow him to proceed
there was one formality which had to be disposed of.
'Sorry to have to ask you this, Captain, but who gave you the
authority to approach SOE?'
'Sorry to have to tell you this, Mr Marks, but I forgot to ask for
it! Here's my CO's number if you want it.'
'I don't think it'll be necessary.' His reply had ensured that he'd
get all the help I could give him.
'What sort of traffic are you likely to pass?'
He produced a bundle of specimen messages (the first visitor who'd
done so) but they were so carefully phrased I suspected they'd been
composed especially for the occasion. Pressed for detail, he estimated
that the average message would be fifty letters long and that most of
the D-Day traffic would be between France and London, though in
certain areas two-way communication between SAS units would save
'a lot of to-ing and fro-ing.'
We to-ed and fro-ed between ourselves for several minutes, and I
decided that they could most safely pass their paramilitary-type messages
in code-books and letter one-time pads. We'd also have to
supply them with WOKs for emergencies, of which I imagined there'd
be plenty. Providing them with two-way communication as well
meant that we'd have to dig into the last of our reserves. But so
would the SAS when they reached the field. It was time to demonstrate
the merchandise.
Pulling back the curtains (I knew by now where the light switch
was), I explained the various systems and added that if the SAS
proved to be temperamentally unsuited to code-books they could
encode their messages directly on to pads.
Captain Astor had only one question for me: 'How soon can we
have some for training purposes?'
"Would tomorrow be soon enough?'
The smile which parachuted from his eyes to his lips reminded me
of Tommy's when he was still able to smile.
I then explained that I'd need an informed estimate of the quantities
458
they'd require, and that he'd better leave the formalities to me as his
approach had been somewhat irregular.
He shook my hand in silence.
Five minutes later he took a final glance at the 'fat white woman
whom nobody loves' and hurried away, probably to drop in on the
Chiefs of Staff without an appointment.
The following morning I was assembling Astor's training codes
when Heffer strolled in.
'Prepare yourself for a shock.' he said, an innovation which was a
shock in itself.
He waited till his cigarette was aglow with excitement before
making his announcement. 'We've been asked by the War Office to
supply codes for all Special Forces.'
I had just enough strength to enquire what quantities this would
involve.
'It'll make no difference! Nick's agreed that we'll do it.'
He watched my face slither (it hadn't the vitality to fall), and
smiled. 'There's a bright side to it - you'll have the authority to
supply Captain Astor with the codes you'd agreed to send him anyway.
His CO took the trouble to phone Nick to tell him in detail
how helpful you'd been. But you needn't worry about the
consequences . . .' He assured me that I was reasonably popular with
SOE at the moment because the request couldn't have come at a
better moment for Gubbins and Selborne, and was a kick in the balls
forC.
'But Heff, we can't even cope with our own requirements, let alone
the whole of Special Forces.'
'Try telling that to Nick - he's waiting to see you.'
I reached his office in twenty-five seconds, an in-house record.
Nick was far too elated by his directorate's popularity (WT sets,
signal-plans and variable call-signs were also in demand) to be dis
turbed by trivia such as shortage of silk. He pointed out that I'd solved ^previous production problems without much difficulty by talking to
i^George Courtauld and Tommy Davies (the 'hard men'.), and
rinstructed me to approach them immediately. He added that they
palready knew of the War Office's request as Davies was on the Execu-
459
BETWEEN BILK AND CYANIDE
tive Council, which had endorsed his decision to supply Special Forces
with everything they needed.
The 'hard men' weren't at all pleased to see me. They listened with
growing impatience as I explained that we'd get no help with the
new commitment from our present printers and photographers as
they were already pushed to their outer limits.
'So are we,' snapped Tommy Davies.
'Indeed we are,' echoed George Courtauld.
I assured them that I didn't take their help for granted, and knew
how difficult it would be for them to find new firms for us. I added
that it wasn't just the codes themselves which had caused them to
catch on but the quality of the printing and photography for which
they alone were responsible. I then admitted that I'd recommended
to my colleagues that signal-plans and variable call-signs should also
be printed on silk, which would increase the work-load still further.
Davies stared out of the window as if wondering if it would be a
suitable exit for me. 'We'll do what we can, but I don't hold out
much hope.'
'Very little indeed.' echoed Courtauld.
Three days later four new firms of printers and photographers were
put at SOE's disposal. They began work at once with silk supplied by
the 'hard men', and made far fewer than the usual quota of beginners'
mistakes.
The "War Office's first demands arrived a day later. They wanted
500 LOPs on silk or waterproof paper, and 300 WOKs.
We promised to supply them within a fortnight at the latest, and
delivered them in less than a week.
Only one thing marred our new role in the code war.
No one was able to press a magic button for Tommy - not even
Gubbins, Selborne or the 'hard men'.
Tommy's friends Brossolette and Bollaert had never been in greater
jeopardy. They'd been waiting since December to be picked up from
France, but the first Lysander which had been sent to collect them
had been forced to turn back due to bad weather, and the replacement
had been shot down. Since then no further aircraft had been available
to SOE, and the two agents were still hiding in a Breton seaport.
460
Tommy had urged them to wait for the January moon, when
nother attempt would be made to pick them up by Lysander. But he RAF had been unable (or unwilling) to mount a third operation,
nd Tommy was convinced that his friends wouldn't wait any longer
nd would risk boarding a ship.
The latest news from the field caused him even greater anxiety.
)ozens of Free French agents were being arrested daily, and he was
onvinced that the Secret Army and the Maquis would be wiped out : they didn't receive the arms and supplies he'd promised them (the ^aquisards had one rifle to every eighteen men, and were equally
hort of food and clothing). He'd besieged the Whitehall ministries,
ut had emerged with nothing but promises or outright rejection,
nd his failure to keep his word to those who trusted him had made
im unapproachable; I had to telephone Kay Moore to ask how he rsLS.
She was concerned about his state of mind and puzzled by his scent behaviour.
He'd begun spending whole days away from the office without lying where he'd gone and had warned her that at the beginning of
ebruary he was likely to be completely unavailable but hadn't
Kplained why.
She was convinced that he was up to something but had no idea that . She wondered how the strain was affecting Barbara.
From 20 January onwards the Rabbit (now more grey than white) egan calling at my new office as he had at my old, and I knew then 3»t it was officially open.
On 25 January he came in at midnight as he 'just happened to be pssing' and sat in silence, clutching an unlit cigar. More out of gabit than inclination, he picked up one of Mother's sandwiches and (lowed it to nibble away at him.
i^We spent a few minutes discussing the Free French code-book but
|y once his mind was elsewhere, and I knew that there was nothing
|ould say to him which would ease his sense of failure.
pFuming towards the window, he stared at the iron bars (the
Jjgxn's brightest feature) and spoke to himself (and the Maquisards?) jj/tf there were no one else present: 'It's the only step left open to
461
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
He turned sharply towards me but I pretended not to have heard
him, and offered him a match for his cigar.
Two days later the Rabbit took that 'only step'. He went to Downing
Street and had a meeting with Churchill.
462
SIXTY-ONE
A Mere Squadron Leader
'I don't put much beyond our Tommy if it helps the
Free French. But to have gone all the way to the Prime
Minister on his own initiative defies belief. . . . The
whole of SOE is in his debt.'
(Nick to author, 3 February '44)
A student of human nature, provided it wasn't his own, Nick spent
several minutes trying to determine how a mere squadron leader had
managed to gain access to England's most sought-after ear - despite
the high-level competition for it and despite its owner's antipathy to
de Gaulle. The quality which eluded him was chutzpah.
H Using his own contacts to bypass official channels, our Tommy
|had stated the case for supporting the Free French to the only man
| in the country in a position to sanction it. Their encounter gave SOE's
Igrapevine its busiest time since Hambro's resignation.
1;: Some believed it had lasted ten minutes; others all day. Some were
jconvinced that Churchill had treated him coldly, others that he'd
Ifistened carefully to his account of the Secret Army's potential, and
lAad assured him that he wouldn't be penalized for bringing it to
pis attention by unorthodox means. But there was no disputing the
IjOutcome of their meeting.
I, The Air Ministry had been instructed by Churchill to supply SOE
yith 100 aircraft capable of flying 250 sorties over France every
gjittoon period, and had already put twelve Liberators, two Halifaxes
g|nd sixteen Stirlings at RF section's disposal. The other recalcitrant
jainistries had been given similar instructions, and large quantities of
463
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
weapons, equipment and clothing had also been delivered, with the
promise of more by the end of the month.
I waited for the announcement that Tommy was now Prime Minister
and that Churchill had joined the Maquis.
I also waited for the sound of Tommy's footsteps and, as soon as
I heard them a few midnights later, hastily concealed an aide-memoire marked NQAC (no questions about Churchill).
I expected him to be elated by his shopping expedition, but he'd
seldom been more truculent as he advanced towards me brandishing
two small artefacts for concealing silks. Slamming them on the desk,
he pointed out that no attempt had been made to age them, and that
they'd be dangerous for agents to carry as leather goods of this type
were no longer obtainable in France. Or hadn't I heard there was a
war on?
His complaints were justified (they usually were), but I suspected
that he was venting his anxieties about Brossolette and Bollaert, and
that he'd been scouring the Signals Office for news of their whereabouts.
(I knew that there was none.)
Accepting one of Dad's cigars (I was hoping he'd brief me about
Churchill's), he instructed me to give the Camouflage Station 'a real
bollocking' unless I preferred him to do it for me, an offer I declined
with thanks.
Finally sitting down, he suggested it was time I got off my arse and
gave the poor bastards who relied on me for codes a bit of service.
'Oui, mon general. Vous avez raison.'
'Translate that! I don't speak German!' His eyes hardened as he
uttered the word, but a new thought seemed to occur to him and he
looked at me intently.
I waited for another bollocking, but his expression had changed
and I thought I glimpsed a hint of concern.
Ts anything wrong? I don't mean with your work, there always is!
... I mean with you personally . ..'
'I'm a bit tired, that's all. Too many Free French indecipherables.'
'You're sure it's nothing else? Are your parents all right?'
I assured him that they were, and that I was simply a bit tired.
'Then pack up and go home to them - or to whoever else is waiting
for you.'
464
Sensing my reluctance, he stood up abruptly and switched off the
lights. 'If I come back in ten minutes and you're still here, there'll be
hell to pay. Is that understood?'
'Ja, mein Kommandant.'
In the silence which followed I wondered what else the squadron
leader had to do before they promoted him - arrest Hitler in person?
He glanced back at me as he reached the door, and once again
took me by surprise. 'I was shit-scared of meeting him.. . . Never
encountered such a mind. Every word was pure Havana. Tell you
more when you've obeyed doctor's orders .. . thanks for asking no
questions.' He closed the door quietly.
I obeyed his instructions ten minutes later, and had my worst nightmare
since Christmas Eve.
I dreamed that Churchill was in danger of dying, and that Tommy
was stating his case to God. Tommy offered the Lord a WOK, and then a LOP, and then himself, if Churchill could be spared. Christ and Moses were present as members of the Executive Council. Bar- bara was taking notes, and I was holding a copy of the FFI code-book in case Jehovah wanted that too. 'No,' said Barbara, 'Tommy's life
|will be enough,' and a tear fell on her notebook. A heavenly choir
|?egan chanting 'Hosanna' in Morse.
I"
S'wenty-four hours later a message from Brittany reported that Bros|olette
and Bollaert had been arrested. No details were known except »|that they'd tried to escape by sea.
I; A subsequent message reported that on 3 February their boat had £n shipwrecked off the coast of Brittany. They'd managed to reach are but had aroused the suspicions of a Feldgendarme as they tried
make their way inland. They were now in a local prison being
estioned by the Germans.
It was the worst news for RF section and Duke Street since the sath of Jean Moulin. But it was even worse for Tommy.
'He knew that the dye which disguised Brossolette's famous white fclock would soon wear off, and that when it did the Germans told identify him immediately and his torture would begin. (His
t already had.) He also knew that he was the only person in SOE
position to continue his joint mission with Brossolette, on which
465
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
they'd spent eight weeks together establishing a new chain of command
and preparing the Resistance groups for D-Day.
He informed his colleagues that he intended to return to France in
the next moon period. He also informed them (though he had no
need to) that he would try to rescue Brossolette before his dye wore
off.
Dismore did his best to remind him that his own security was
blown as the Gestapo had circulated a detailed description of Shelley (his field-name) and had put a high price on his head. He also pointed
out that he mustn't feel responsible for Brossolette's capture as he'd
been warned not to attempt to escape by sea.
Passy used much the same arguments on behalf of Duke Street, but
had no more success than his Baker Street counterpart.
The grapevine once again went into action.
I learned from Charlotte (our in-house expert on French affairs)
that Dismore and Passy had met privately to discuss Tommy's return.
They agreed that his presence in France would be invaluable as he was
so widely trusted, and that he'd soon restore morale. Their overriding
problem was the extent of his knowledge, and the possibility that
he'd crack under torture, though they hadn't said so to him. They
finally decided that his capture was a risk that had to be taken, and
that they should give him all the help they could.
Churchill (who'd written to Selborne, 'Pray keep me informed
about Yeo-Thomas') was reported to have exhaled the view that he
shouldn't yet return to France but should be prevailed upon to take
whatever decision 'would best enable him to serve his country the
longest', but he declined to intervene.
So did Gubbins, and it seemed to RF section and Duke Street that
the final decision was being left entirely to them, in accordance with
standard procedure.
But they'd reckoned without the Signals directorate.
The only person in SOE capable of blocking Tommy's return was
Nick. Since joining the Executive Council, he'd constantly maintained
that country section officers who had a detailed knowledge of their
agents' operations shouldn't be allowed to go into the field. (His
prime target had been Bodington, who made frequent trips to France
and then returned to Baker Street to resume his duties as Buckmaster s
466
deputy before going in again. Bodington had since been sent on
indefinite leave.) Although convinced that the malpractice must cease,
in the debates that followed Nick reluctantly conceded that country
section heads were in the best position to evaluate the information
they were putting at risk, but on one point he was adamant.
He absolutely insisted that country section officers who had a
detailed knowledge of their agents' codes, security checks and WT
conventions should under no circumstances be allowed to go into the
field without the express consent of the Signals directorate. He made
; clear that unless this happened immediately, he'd no longer accept
j responsibility for the security of SOE's traffic. The council had unaniI
mously agreed to his embargo, but expressed the hope that he'd use
it sparingly.
The Rabbit not only fell into Nick's forbidden category, he was
also deputy head of RF section, and Nick informed the council that,
|much as he admired Tommy, he would categorically oppose his return
|(0 France! He was setting a precedent to prevent one from being set.
|ts Faced with Tommy's wrath if they agreed and Nick's resignation
they didn't, the council asked Nick to put his reasons in writing in
ie hope that Dismore and Duke Street would accept their validity,
id his green ink had already covered three pages.
{, I was anxious to have no part in opposing Tommy's return, but
tick instructed me to prepare a list of all the poems and security
ecks which he'd seen when accompanying me to briefings, as well
a detailed report on everything he'd learned about codes from his
iits to my office.
i-Nick had given me twenty-four hours in which to complete it.
sTwenty-two of these had already elapsed, and I hadn't begun.
h.
(mid-February a new message from France reported that Brossolette
been taken to Rennes prison but hadn't yet been identified (he
i posing as a Monsieur Bourdet).
"he moon period was imminent, and Tommy knew that it would
|his last chance to mount a rescue operation. But he also knew
? most rabbits, he kept his ears close to the ground) that the Signals
torate was trying to block his return, and he came storming into
See twenty minutes before I was due to meet Nick.
467
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
I reached for my cigar case, but he was in no mood for peace pipes
and greeted me with a simple announcement: 'If you try to stop me
from going in I shall never speak to you again.'
Since further conversation was unlikely if he did go in, the threat
was academic and I looked at him in silence.
'I know bloody well what's going on so don't play the innocent with
me. Do you people in Signals think I'm completely irresponsible and
haven't thought the risks through? Christ Almighty, do you think I'm
not prepared for what might happen, and don't know my limitations?
I trust your judgement - have some respect for mine. Enough said?'
Taking for granted that it was, he announced that he'd be leaving
in a week.
I made no comment.
'You'll be pleased to hear I don't expect to pass much traffic.'
I didn't think he would either.
Glancing at a pile of silks, he said I should start preparing his codes
immediately and let him have a morning with a briefing officer as he
was 'probably a bit rusty'; '. . . how long will you need for my final
briefing?'
'An hour if you're in the right mood - for ever if you're not.'
He then asked how many agents I met in the course of a week ten?
- twenty?
'None at all in a good week.'
'Do you remember one named Brossolette?' His timing was pure Tommy.
I pretended to be thinking it over. 'The name seems familiar ...
Didn't you once tell me he owns a bookshop in Paris?'
'I'd like him to continue running it.' He leaned across the desk.
'Just you remember that I know sod-all about codes when you write
that report.. .'
I was already late in delivering it, and glanced at my watch.
Tommy took this personally. 'Sorry to take up so much of your
time. Shan't for much longer.'
He left without his cigar.
Nick was studying a lengthy document, which I suspected was his report to the council. Heffer was studying the ash on his cigarette.
468
A MERE SQUADRON LEADER
I apologized for being late, and advanced towards them clutching
a single sheet of foolscap.
Nick's eyebrows arched as I proffered it for inspection. 'Is this the
complete list - down to the last detail?'
I assured him that it was, and laid the piece of paper in front of
him. It was headed 'Yeo-Thomas'. The rest of the page was blank.
'What the devil's this?'
'A summary of his knowledge, sir. He knows nothing about codes
- he can hardly remember his own poems, let alone other people's.
His mind's always on something else.' I hastily added that he had no
head for security checks either.
Nick controlled himself admirably. But then he'd had plenty of
practice. 'I distinctly remember you telling me that he regularly
attended briefings with you -'
'Attended's the wrong word, sir. He sat on the telephone while I
did the briefings - he didn't even look at the agents' conventions. I
still don't know why he bothered to come.'
Heffer's cigarette sighed, and ash fell like a tear on the empty page.
Nick leaned towards me, and I hoped that apoplexy wasn't infectious.
'I've lost count of the times you've told me about the indecipherables
he's helped you to break - including those of other country
sections because "it's all one war to Tommy." If you're now saying
;, that he helped you without seeing the code conventions I'll recI
ommend him to Bletchley.'
t I looked at him in what I hoped was astonishment. 'That wasn't ( Tommy, sir. The most he ever did to help was make fresh coffee to
!keep me awake. It was one of the supervisors who lent a hand, sir,
and she's gone to Massingham, I'm sorry to say.'
Heffer began lighting a new cigarette, possibly from his thoughts. | Nick put down his pen and spoke very quietly. 'Leo, I share your |respect for him - but there's a limit to the torture anyone can take,
| and God knows how many agents we'd lose if Tommy reached break|ing
point. I'm going to repeat my question for the last time '
'May I ask you one first, sir?'
He nodded.
'Didn't you say that the whole of SOE was in his debt?'
He nodded again.
469
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'Isn't the Signals directorate part of SOE?'
'Come to the point.'
'If we're in his debt, is this the way to repay him? Stopping him
from doing what he's convinced he must because he might reach
breaking-point?'
I feared my words were dropping blind over enemy territory, and
pulled the ripcord: 'There's only one person in the world who can
crack Yeo-Thomas - and that's you, sir, if you try to prevent him
from rescuing Brossolette.'
There was a long silence, especially inside me.
Nick turned towards Heffer as if he alone could break it.
The Guru obliged in mid-puff. 'There's only one solution from a
Signals standpoint. Send Marks in with him to do the coding.'
'Don't tempt me,' said Nick. He closed his eyes, and I prayed that
the Lord would open them.
A few seconds later he picked up my blank sheet of paper. 'In the
presence of Captain Heffer I now ask you formally on behalf of the
Executive Council - whose poems does Yeo-Thomas know, whose
security checks^
'His own, and possibly Passy's old ones. No one else's, to the best
of my knowledge and belief.'
'I question your knowledge,' said Nick, 'but share your belief.'
He picked up his pen. 'I shall withdraw my objections on the
grounds that I was misinformed about his knowledge. You can go.'
The least one could do for a friend was help him to kill himself.
470
SIXTY-TWO
Without Precedent
On 12 February I was asked by Muriel if I would accept a phone call
tirom Commandant Manuel. Knowing that he was a senior member of
;>the Free French hierarchy and was alleged to be Signals-minded, I
Igtook it at once.
ir He informed me in excellent English that he would be obliged if I
Iwould call on him at Duke Street 'at my quickest convenience'. He
padded that no appointment would be necessary.
| Convinced it was about Tommy, I was there twenty minutes later.
|;i He greeted me warmly, though I sensed a hint of unease. He finally
id that he had some rather bad news for me: much as he admired
s new silk codes, he was no longer sure that they were suitable for
•ee French traffic. He then produced a telegram from Archiduc
King that Circonference had been unable to decipher any of
indon's messages as her code (a one-time pad) had not been in her
)ssession.
^Looking at me apologetically, Manuel said that messages mustn't
(delayed because the right codes were unavailable due to the danger
treet searches, and he was writing to Dismore recommending that
Qts should abandon their silks and use only their poems until it
• safer for them to carry them or they could do their coding in
s-houses.
[ wanted you to hear this from myself as you have done so much
telp us, and you must not think we are not grateful.'
I thanked him for his courtesy and said I shared his concern. (I
pi't tell him that a week ago the same situation had arisen with
i F section agents, as Buckmaster and Duke Street didn't compare
471
BETWEEN SILK AHD CYANIDE
Manuel gave his first sigh of the meeting (by Duke Street standards
it was late in arriving) and said that one-time pads had been issued
to so many agents that he felt the letter must be sent.
'Of course.'
I noticed a few WOKs on his desk which seemed to be winking
up at me, and asked if the same objection applied to them.
He said he didn't think so because they contained enough for 200
messages on only two sheets of silk. But 200 messages on onetime
pads needed twelve sheets plus a substitution square, which made
them far more dangerous to carry . . . perhaps in future his agents
could be given worked-out keys only?
The WOKs on his desk nodded, but I pointed out that the system
had one disadvantage. Every WOK message had to contain at least
100 letters for security reasons. But one-time pads were so safe that
they need contain only ten letters and the agents could then get off
the air. I added that the enemy's direction-finding units cost almost
as many lives as their cryptographers, and that WT operators had
the most dangerous job in the field.
Manuel gave another sigh, this time garlic-flavoured, then silently
handed me a sheet of paper. It was a message to Archiduc instructing
him to tell Circonference that she must use her poem from now on,
and that London would do the same.
'As it concerns your department, I need your agreement to send
it.'
I reluctantly gave it.
'You are not happy about this?'
I tried to imitate his sigh but it came out like a hiccup. 'Commandant
Manuel, nothing to do with the poem-code makes me happy.
The damn thing should be used only in emergencies - and bloody
great ones at that.'
He looked at me thoughtfully. 'May I be allowed to ask a stupid
question?'
I was convinced he was incapable of it, but encouraged him to try.
'Why has it not been possible for you to give us a better
system?'
Delighted that he'd asked (no one else had), I rattled off a few
472
WITHOUT PRECEDENT
lundred reasons why it was technically difficult to produce a safe :ode which had to a) be memorized, b) be used frequently, and c) pass
nessages which enemy cryptographers could not anticipate. 'I've been
rying for two years to find a solution.'
'But you have not given up.' It was a statement rather than a question.
'It's just possible I'm in sight of one. I'm still working on it.'
'I am sure you will succeed. But is there any chance it will be ready of our friend? It may be dangerous for him to carry silks.'
I didn't know the French for knife, though the one which sliced
hrough my intestines was in a universal language. 'No, mon comnandant
- it will not be ready for Tommy.'
I decided to ease the ache of failure by admitting the extent of it,
md hoped that the novelty would help: 'We have great trouble teachng
agents double-transposition, though it's basically quite simple. iut this new code's so damn complicated it would be easier to teach
em calculus. In its present form I'm not even sure that I understand
t myself.'
Manuel smiled sympathetically. 'I am sure you will find a way to
implify it. Would it be a help to your instructors if we allowed our
l|gents to have longer code-training periods?'
This was an extraordinary offer - most country sections did their
lest to reduce them.
' 'It would be a very great help indeed.'
'You have only to ask me.'
There was a finality to his tone, and I realized that I'd been with Sum for an hour and there was nothing more to be said.
I- He stood up and thanked me for coming at such short notice and S6r being so understanding about his letter. He then held out his hand
n silence, and we both shook Tommy's. I I hurried back to my office to make the new system simpler, but |>on put down my pen.
I5! couldn't stop thinking about Tommy.
I'Five minutes later I made my first contribution to the ditty-box |nce Christmas eve:
473
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
Make the most of it
A coast to coast
Toast of it
For what you think
Has been God-sent to you
Has only been lent to you.*
The country sections never informed the Signals directorate of agents'
cover-stories, rightly regarding them as strictly their business, but a
grateful Dismore set a precedent and told Nick of the precautions
Tommy had devised to reduce the risk of identification and torture.
They were unique in the history of SOE.
He'd decided to tell the Gestapo that he was entitled to be treated
as a prisoner of war as he was a member of the crew of a British
aircraft which had been shot down over France! Knowing that the
Germans had a copy of the air force list and could check the names
of all air-crews, he'd asked the Air Ministry to put him in touch with
any RAF officer who'd a) baled out over France in the past six
months, b) returned to England, and c) been excluded from further
operations, and they'd quickly produced one.
His name was Squadron Leader Dodkin, and Tommy visited him
to learn his serial number, the operations he'd taken part in and his
personal history. He then acquired a duplicate disc bearing Dodkin's
name, which he intended to keep 'suitably concealed about his person'
to confirm his identity in case he was searched.
But Tommy's cover-story was no more unique than his new terms
of reference. He was the first Englishman to be allowed to go into
France on Duke Street's behalf without being accompanied by a Free
French officer. He would also be representing SOE's interests, and
was virtually an Anglo-French mission of one.
He'd been code-named Asymptote (a line that continually
approaches a curve but never meets it), and his brief caused no more
than a hint of dissension between Dismore and Manuel, who'd jointly
prepared it. The far-sighted commandant warned Dismore in writing
* Issued in February 1944 to Denise Bloch (Ambroise), an F section WT operator. She
was executed at Ravensbruck in 1945.
474
that Asymptote's ordres de mission must in no way be regarded as
a precedent as the Free French had only agreed to them because of
Asymptote's 'exceptional personality'.
In the short time remaining to him, all the exceptional personality
had to do was absorb the details of his new mission, learn his new
cover-stories (Dodkin was only one of them), and ensure that he
remembered how to jump. I knew he hadn't forgotten his coding but
he spent several hours with a FANY instructress.
He telephoned me shortly afterwards to thank me for choosing
such a patient one (she wished it could have lasted a week), and
added that he wasn't going to wait for the next moon period but
would leave for France as soon as the weather permitted. 'I'll drop
in this evening for my final briefing, if that suits you?'
I assured him that his codes and cigars were ready for him.
I wished that the same could be said of me.
Tommy sat opposite me with a cigar in one hand, a pencil in the
other, and a plate of Mother's finest beside him. Pushing the plate
aside, he instructed me to treat him 'like any other agent', and I spent
the next twenty minutes making him practise his conventions, though it was only a formality.
;,, He was to use a LOP to keep his messages short, with a WOK in preserve. The LOP was to be concealed in a chess-set, but he hadn't
l^et decided where to hide his WOK (next to Dodkin's disc, perhaps?).
I Conceding the possibility that his silks might not always be available,
|he asked if 'just for luck' he could use his old Sea-horse poem in jemergencies, and since he'd need all the 'merde alors' he could get,
|;I raised no objections. Nor did I ask him to repeat it.
I" 'That's it then.'
| He lit his cigar, helped himself to a sandwich, and I knew that he'd g|nade time for a chat.
s Looking at me quizzically, he said he understood from Manuel that
'd finally produced a system which was safer than the poem-code.
'Tommy, it's still in its infancy '
i 'Then it's in the right hands. Show me how it works.'
'I'm not sure that it does . . .' I wanted to change the subject but Knew that if I did so the godfather of WOKs would almost certainly
475
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
conclude that I no longer trusted him with the details of new codes.
'It's called a MOP.'
He looked at me in astonishment.
'Short for mental one-time pad.'
'It's also short for Marks is an old piss-pot.'
He asked for further details.
I warned him that agents would go mental if I couldn't find a way
to simplify it, and began outlining its principles, but he soon held up
his hand.
'Thank God I won't be around to use it.'
I noticed that he was wearing a signet-ring which I hadn't seen
before, and was about to comment on it when I realized that it was
a receptacle for his L-tablet.
He caught me looking at it. 'That reminds me, I have a question
for you! What mustn't I tell them if I crack?'
No other agent had asked me this, and it stunned me.
'Well?' he said impatiently. 'What mustn't I tell them?'
'Where I get my cigars and your security checks - in that order.'
He glanced at the pile of WOKs and LOPs on the desk. 'Nothing
else about codes? They can be very inquisitive.'
'You can tell them whatever you like about codes - they know it
all anyway. Besides, nobody's going to catch you except Barbara,
and the sooner she does the better.'
His face clouded over, and I'd have bitten my tongue out if I'd
known where to find it.
'I hope my friends will keep her informed of whatever news comes
in.' He stressed the word 'whatever'.
'You know bloody well they will.'
He glanced at his watch, and I realized that it was time for the
closing ceremony.
I took one of Father's finest Corona Coronas from my cigar-case
and held it up for his inspection. 'It'll be here when you get back.
Unless Buckmaster takes up smoking.'
'The most he can do is smoulder. Thanks, it's a beauty ... and I'd
like 10 say thanks to your father. Does he still think that you work
at the Labour Exchange?'
'Yes. He thinks I use 'em to bribe a supervisor.'
476
WITHOUT PRECEDENT
'So you do.'
To my surprise, he glanced at the ditty-box. 'If I do pass any traffic,
would it be safer if I scrapped my Sea-horse poem and memorized
one of those damn things?'
'Yes.'
'Then why haven't you tried to persuade me?'
'I did for your Arquebus mission. You weren't exactly receptive.'
'I am now. Have you got one you'd like me to use?'
I opened the ditty-box, extracted my last entry and held it out to
him. 'This might do.'
He made no attempt to take it. 'Poets enjoy reading their works.
Say it.'
'I'm not a poet.'
'And put that card down. If you don't know the bloody lot by
heart, then my name's Buckmaster!'
'I'm sorry to say this, Maurice, but I have no heart. You sods have
broken it.'
He looked at me in amusement. 'There's no need to be bashful.
I'm not expecting Shakespeare.'
'Neither was Anne Hathaway.'
'Who's she - one of your coders?'
He repeated his request, this time more firmly.
I held the card in both hands as it was suddenly very heavy, and
pretended to be reading from it:
They cannot know
What makes you as you are
Nor can they hear
Those voices from afar
Which whisper to you
You are not alone.
They cannot reach
That inner core of you
The long before of you
The child inside
Deep deep inside
477
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
conclude that I no longer trusted him with the details of new codes.
'It's called a MOP.'
He looked at me in astonishment.
'Short for mental one-time pad.'
'It's also short for Marks is an old piss-pot.'
He asked for further details.
I warned him that agents would go mental if I couldn't find a way
to simplify it, and began outlining its principles, but he soon held up
his hand.
'Thank God I won't be around to use it.'
I noticed that he was wearing a signet-ring which I hadn't seen
before, and was about to comment on it when I realized that it was
a receptacle for his L-tablet.
He caught me looking at it. 'That reminds me, I have a question
for you! What mustn't I tell them if I crack?'
No other agent had asked me this, and it stunned me.
'Well?' he said impatiently. 'What mustn't I tell them?'
'Where I get my cigars and your security checks - in that order.'
He glanced at the pile of WOKs and LOPs on the desk. 'Nothing
else about codes? They can be very inquisitive.'
'You can tell them whatever you like about codes - they know it
all anyway. Besides, nobody's going to catch you except Barbara,
and the sooner she does the better.'
His face clouded over, and I'd have bitten my tongue out if I'd
known where to find it.
'I hope my friends will keep her informed of whatever news comes
in.' He stressed the word 'whatever'.
'You know bloody well they will.'
He glanced at his watch, and I realized that it was time for the
closing ceremony.
I took one of Father's finest Corona Coronas from my cigar-case
and held it up for his inspection. 'It'll be here when you get back.
Unless Buckmaster takes up smoking.'
'The most he can do is smoulder. Thanks, it's a beauty ... and I'd
like to say thanks to your father. Does he still think that you work
at the Labour Exchange?'
'Yes. He thinks I use 'em to bribe a supervisor.'
476
WITHOUT PRECEDENT
'So you do.'
To my surprise, he glanced at the ditty-box. 'If I do pass any traffic,
would it be safer if I scrapped my Sea-horse poem and memorized
one of those damn things?'
'Yes.'
'Then why haven't you tried to persuade me?'
'I did for your Arquebus mission. You weren't exactly receptive.'
'I am now. Have you got one you'd like me to use?'
I opened the ditty-box, extracted my last entry and held it out to
him. 'This might do.'
He made no attempt to take it. 'Poets enjoy reading their works.
Say it.'
'I'm not a poet.'
'And put that card down. If you don't know the bloody lot by
heart, then my name's Buckmaster!'
'I'm sorry to say this, Maurice, but I have no heart. You sods have
broken it.'
He looked at me in amusement. 'There's no need to be bashful.
I'm not expecting Shakespeare.'
'Neither was Anne Hathaway.'
'Who's she - one of your coders?'
He repeated his request, this time more firmly.
I held the card in both hands as it was suddenly very heavy, and
pretended to be reading from it:
They cannot know
What makes you as you are
Nor can they hear
Those voices from afar
Which whisper to you
You are not alone.
They cannot reach
That inner core of you
The long before of you
The child inside
Deep deep inside
477
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Which gives the man his pride.
What you are
They can never be
And what they are
Will soon be history.
He took the card from me and read it carefully. 'Can I have a copy
of this?'
'You can keep that card - we have a duplicate.'
'I'll let you know if I have time to remember it. To be on the safe
side I'll continue to use my Sea-horse poem, but if I ever send a
message in this one you'll know I've been caught. . . . Would it need
a special prefix?'
'Your Sea-horse prefix would do.'
He nodded the card in his briefcase and closed it abruptly. He then
took a final glance at the pile of WOKs and LOPs waiting to be
dispatched. 'Keep 'em coming, and merde alors with MOPs - but
for God's sake keep 'em simple.'
Til tailor them for you.'
We both stood up. He put his hand on my shoulder, and looked
at me in silence.
I couldn't read what his eyes were saying as mine weren't altogether
in focus.
On 24 February he dropped into France.
478
SIXTY-THREE
Open Arrest
'Stop taking their imprisonment personally. The way
they're being handled is no concern of yours . .. it's
Holland's future that's at stake.'
(Nick to author, 1 March 1944)
We'd been discussing SOE's treatment of Ubbrinck and Dourlein,
the Dutch agents who'd escaped from Haaren prison and reported
the collapse of the Dutch Resistance to the British embassy in Berne
when they'd reached Switzerland in November.
is your journey really necessary? was one of London's
most widely displayed posters.
Although fair play in SOE was rare and usually the result of a
lapse in concentration, I was hoping that both men would be given
the benefits of whatever doubts existed in the minds of those purblind
enough to have any. I should have known better.
They'd arrived in London on 1 February and amplified their
accounts of the German penetration, but their N section interrogators
preferred to believe the warnings from Holland that the Gestapo had
'turned' them and allowed them to escape to spread disinformation;
they'd been sent to a holding camp in Guildford under open arrest. By early March they were still incarcerated, and were likely to remain so until Giskes lost his creative flow. Nor did yet another change of
leadership in N section enhance their chances of being released.
Bingham had been dispatched to Australia (hopefully to the Outback),
and Major Dobson of the Belgian section had taken his place.
|| Whereas Bingham believed everything, Dobson believed nothing, and
||kis responses to Ubbinck and Dourlein were as guarded as 84's to
479
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
the Revenue. (Three more agents had escaped from Haaren in November
but Dobson was so suspicious of alleged escapees that none of
them had been allowed to return to England.)
Having been given the most unenviable job in SOE (with the possible
exception of mine.), Dobson inevitably approached his new directorate
with an eye to damage control. He was as suspicious of the
traffic from Holland as he was of the escapees, and the Dutch situation
was deadlocked, with the emphasis on the dead.
German aircraft were dropping bombs on London as if they were
mounting a blanket attack on an indecipherable which had to be
broken. It was clear that these raids were little more than target
practice and that far worse was to come. As a precaution, all code
records had been duplicated and stored in the country.
RF section and Duke Street had also taken action. Knowing that
Tommy listened avidly to news bulletins from London and would be
worried about Barbara's welfare, they sent weekly messages to him
over the BBC assuring him of her safety.
They had even more reason to be concerned about his. He'd landed
at night near Clermont-Ferrand with a saboteur named Trieur, and
within twenty-four hours they'd left the area and boarded a train for
Paris (200 miles away). As soon as they'd reached the capital, he'd
found a safe flat for Trieur, and spent his first days questioning
Resistance Movement leaders about the latest situation in Paris, Tours
and Brittany. Finding their morale low (SOE's expanded dropping
operations had only recently begun), he assured them that large quantities
of arms and supplies were on their way to all parts of France,
that more would be following, and that the invasion would take
place.
He'd discovered through his trusted friend Maud (who was on 'friendly terms' with a German official) that Brossolette and Bollaert
were in Rennes prison, and that the Gestapo still believed that Brossolette
was Pierre Bourdet.
On 1 March he'd left Paris with Maud, and was now in Rennes
reconnoitring the prison and finalizing his plans. The entire
Brittany organization had been put at his disposal for the rescue
attempt.
480
OPEN ARREST
Manuel believed it would be another two weeks before Brossolette's
dye wore off. Less of an optimist, Dismore thought it might last
another one.
I accompanied Tommy on his journey to Rennes, and then
embarked on a rescue operation which could no longer be postponed.
The last promise I'd made him was to simplify MOPs.
The fundamental purpose of a mental one-time pad was to make its
code-groups so closely resemble those of a real LOP that the enemy
wouldn't attempt to break them. And even if they learned of the
subterfuge from a captured agent they would still find the code-groups
troublesome to break.
If the mechanics of MOPs could be simplified, they'd be stablecompanions
to our other deception scheme (Gift-horse), which made
WOK-messages look as if they'd been passed in poems to tempt
enemy cryptographers to waste their precious time attacking them.
The difference was that MOP messages were designed to deter them
from trying.
But there was one technical problem, which was the cryptographic
equivalent of getting Brossolette out of Rennes. Enemy cryptographers
could identify genuine LOP code-groups at a glance because ?bf the preponderance of consonants. And those same deadly eyes
| fcould just as easily identify transposition traffic because of the preponiderance
of vowels. Since MOPs were based on transposition, a way
I had to be found to make their code-groups contain the requisite
I number of uncommon consonants.
I? -To achieve this, an agent would have to memorize two poems, and
pbe taught how to make a substitution square, without which no
E sine-time pad could function. His nightmare would then begin. f-'i He'd have to choose five words from poem A, and obtain a transpojMtion-key in the normal way. But instead of encoding a message in
|fe, he'd encode the whole of poem B and use the resulting code-group
||s his one-time pad! Suppose his message were:
ipwhoever DEVISED THIS FUCKING SYSTEM SHOULD BE SHOT.
P he encoded it in a poem or WOK his code-groups would be:
481
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
SEOLI CTIBN SEFEI WOVEH DDTEU SEDGS UDEOH TRSEU
VUKHH.
But if he used a MOP the code-groups would be:
ZVKML PDYYQ XRRUV FXLLT KZPNT DSWLD APPLZ ORTTY
PKHGW.
(If the latter didn't convince the Germans that he'd used a onetime
pad then I deserved to be shot.)
Putting aside the 'deceptive element', the system was secure enough
to allow short messages to be passed in it (the shorter the better),
but even twenty letters could take more than an hour to encode. I
stumbled on a way to cut the time in half, but it still remained a
laborious process even in ideal working conditions with no Gestapo
but Nick prowling outside.
Anxious to test it on some suitable victims, I explained the system
to six expert coders and three renowned plodders, and asked them
to encode a lengthy MOP message.
The six experts included the phenomenal Ensign Hornung, who
found nothing too difficult except being at ease. But even she had to
agree with her fellow-experts that the system was far too complicated
and would cause endless indecipherables (including their own), and
that the average coder would take for ever to learn it. They then
retired to their less taxing duties.
I suddenly realized that the three plodders were still ploughing on.
Although I was convinced that they had no idea what they were
doing, the least I could do was wait for them to finish, and I spent
the next thirty minutes pretending to be breaking an indecipherable
while I watched them in silence. They finished simultaneously (a
knack of plodders), and handed me their messages as if reluctant to
part with them. I checked them in their presence (making three mistakes
in the process), and to my astonishment discovered that every
message had been flawlessly encoded.
But the miracle didn't end there. They all volunteered to try another
MOP message 'as it was really rather fun reaching the end'.
I was tempted to hug them but consulted Heffer instead.
482
The Guru had no difficulty in explaining the phenomenon as he
was one himself. Using the analogy of the tortoise and the hare (which
he probably originated), he said that in his experience plodders were
able to cope with complex processes like MOPs because their minds
didn't race ahead, and each step gave them a feeling of accomplishment,
whereas experts needed to find short cuts to prove that they
were experts. He added that he'd sooner be operated on by a plodding
surgeon than an expert, which made me wonder which part of his
anatomy had been.
Still doubting the system's practical value, I decided to test it on a
group of briefing officers and training-school instructors, giving them
no warning of what to expect.
I wasn't surprised when they pronounced MOPs far too cumbersome
to be taught to average agents in the limited time at their
disposal, if at all. But one of the instructresses reluctantly agreed to try them on her present batch of pupils, who'd finished their training
and were filling in time.
I wanted to sit at the back of the room to monitor her presentation but decided that my presence might put her off, and that I could well be identified as the creator of the system.
She telephoned two days later to ask if I'd like her to come to ^"London to tell me the results in person, and I at once agreed, though
I suspected she fancied a shopping expedition.
Of the six agents she'd Mopped, two had given up in despair and
one had gone to bed with a headache from which he had yet to recover. But the other three had decided that although it was
'extremely hard work, they'd like to practise the system as they wanted ^o use it in the field.
' Astounded, I saw the agents long before I was due to in the hope |of discovering what had prompted their decision. ', They had no hesitation in telling me. They felt that one-time pads
|Were so simple to use that they couldn't possibly be safe, whereas |MOPs were so complicated that no one could break them.
I Recovering from my astonishment, I disabused them, and they [promised to use MOPs only in emergencies. But their answer made
jgile realize that other agents might be under the same misapprehenpon, and I made a mental note that in future no agents were to be
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BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
considered fully briefed until they understood why one-time pads
were unbreakable, with WOKs a second-best.
I also decided that MOPs should be taught to carefully selected
agents once their normal training was finished, and that the ultimate
decision as to whether to use them must be theirs.
I sensed that MOPs would have some place in the code war, if
only for the wrong reasons.
On 8 March Nick left for India on a tour of inspection, and Heffer
took his place. Nick's last instruction was to keep him informed
about Tommy's progress.
Messages from France reported that in mid-March Brossolette had
been identified by the Germans, and had been transferred from
Rennes prison to Gestapo headquarters in the Avenue Foch. He'd
tried to escape by jumping through a window, but had fallen five
storeys and was dead. (Duke Street believed he'd committed suicide
to escape further torture.)
Reports about Tommy arrived shortly afterwards. He'd returned
to Paris to complete his plans for rescuing Brossolette from Rennes.
Unaware that his friend was lying on a slab only a few streets away
from him, he'd gone to the Paris Metro on the morning of the 21st
to meet a contact, and had been arrested by the Germans. He was
now in the hands of the Gestapo in the Rue des Saussailes.
I prayed that he'd swallow his L-tablet before they realized who
he was.
Barbara had been told of his capture.
Duke Street had informed de Gaulle.
Selborne had notified Churchill.
Merde alors. Tommy.
They cannot know
What makes you as you are
Nor can they hear
Those voices from afar
Which whisper to you
You are not alone.
484
SIXTY-FOUR
Misgivings
captured agent's first task, and frequently his last, was to withstand uty-eight hours of interrogation in all its forms to allow the rest of s circuit time to go underground. Tommy always warned agents
iat if they were caught, 'those first forty-eight hours' would be the
irdest to endure.
He'd been in the hands of the Gestapo for seventy-two. RF section and Duke Street suspected that he'd been betrayed by
fellow-agent. They also feared that he'd been identified as Shelley.
n 10 March Delhi HQ informed Heffer that he was to remain in targe of Signals for at least a fortnight while Nick completed his
spection of India's WT stations.
-The Guru took his new responsibilities in his stroll, arriving even ter than usual, leaving even earlier, and exuding even more smoke Kgs.
rHis first official act was to call a meeting of all department heads
? discuss our preparations for the invasion of France. The first few
lurs were taken up with technical wireless problems, including the
location of new frequencies, the introduction of new signal-plans,
|d the distribution of D-Day traffic between our three stations. if was the last to be called upon as it was believed that all was well |th the code department. jBnfortunately it wasn't.
N realized, hopefully in time, that there were major flaws in our
Iftribution to Overlord, and was obliged to tell my colleagues that
PHow had to discuss two problems which not only affected our ^ay traffic but could have repercussions far beyond it.
485
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
I was convinced that unless we took immediate precautions, the
huge increase in our French traffic between now and D-Day couldn't
fail to alert the enemy that we were organizing mass uprisings all
over France, and might even blow the imminence of Overlord.
My second worry was the use of BBC messages to agents in the
field.
Taking first things first, if only for the novelty, I suggested that one
way to disguise the growth of our traffic would be to start flooding the
air with dummy messages which would be transmitted round the
clock to every part of Europe. Each message would be encoded in a
WOK, LOP or poem, and would be indistinguishable from our genuine
traffic.
This minor undertaking was enthusiastically received, and Heffer
allowed me forty-eight hours in which to present him with the details.
I then disclosed at length why I believed that the BBC's en clair messages to agents had become a major security risk (responsibility
for vetting them was vested in our liaison officer with the BBC).
They agreed that my misgivings were thoroughly justified, and that
a solution must be found as soon as possible.
Since I was the one who'd raised the problem, Heffer allowed me
the same forty-eight hours in which to solve it, and I asked if I could
be excused from the rest of the meeting (it seemed likely to last until
well after D-Day). ^
Someone whispered, 'Lucky sod' as I hurried from the room.
But then he didn't know the extent of the problem I'd just talked
myself into.
The idea of BBC announcers reading short en clair messages to agents
in the field had been conceived in 1941 by George Begue, the first
SOE agent to be parachuted into France.
Begue (who'd escaped from a Vichy prison in '42 and was now
Captain Noble of F section) had been given a poem-code and an
elementary WT set, and dropped into the Chateauroux area to communicate
with London. He'd soon discovered that the Germans were
jamming his traffic, that their direction-finding vans were scouring
the vicinity, and that he was risking his life every time he came on
the air. He'd also realized that many of London's messages consisted
486
of instructions to carry out orders he'd already been given. Anxious
not to use his set if he could possibly avoid it, he'd suggested to
London that their last-minute instructions to him could safely be
conveyed in short prearranged phrases, whose meaning only he and
F section would know. If London agreed, he would listen every night
to the BBC's foreign service until these phrases were broadcast.
His concept of 'personal messages' was at once adopted, and
rapidly spread to every country section in SOE. Since then, short
plain-language messages had become an integral part of agents' communications,
and were currently being used to confirm safe-houses,
passwords and dropping operations, substantially reducing an operator's
airtime.
They also fulfilled a function which Noble hadn't foreseen. They
enabled agents in the field to say to those whose help they badly
needed but who doubted their bona fides, 'Make up a short message
- it doesn't matter what - and I'll arrange for it to be broadcast a
week from now on the BBC's foreign service.' The results of this
offer never failed to produce the desired effects, and often enabled
agents to borrow large sums of money on the lender's assumption
(not always well founded) that London would repay the advance
when the war was over.
These all-important phrases had been christened 'iodoforms' by
someone in Baker Street with a classical education, though it was
hard to guess his identity.
A typical iodoform was 'Je ne regrette rien', and a typical Signals
problem was that the agent it was intended for had to be aware of
its significance; the only way London could convey it to him was
through WT messages which he'd then have to acknowledge.
There was no danger in this if WOKs and LOPs had been used,
but if the details were transmitted to him in a poem-code (as so many
iodoforms were) the agent was likely to have beaucoup to regret. If
the enemy had broken his poem, they'd know the meaning of his 'personal messages' and be in a position to take appropriate action.
And there was another danger: even if they hadn't broken his code,
if they scoured his traffic for the words of iodoforms they suspected
were his, their anagrammers would have a field-day, and the life of
the poem would soon be over. And the agent's with it.
487
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
But an even greater nightmare was rapidly taking shape.
I'd been told by Nick that shortly before D-Day SOE intended to
use iodoforms to instruct Secret Armies and agents that it was time
to break cover and cause maximum havoc in every way they could.
I'd been too preoccupied with recruitment problems to point out that
a) even on D-Day dozens of agents would still be using poem-codes,
either because we'd failed to deliver silks to them or because they'd
mislaid them, and that b) if the D-Day iodoforms had been prearranged
in broken poems, the enemy would not only know that
Overlord was imminent, they might be able to pinpoint where the
landings would take place.
I didn't need forty-eight hours to decide what had to be done.
But I wondered what else we experts had missed.
Seated at Nick's desk as if he were there for the duration, the Guru
began the most important conversation we were ever likely to have
by instructing me to present my ideas as succinctly as possible as he
had to leave the office early.
Trying to sound casual, I said that the code department's contribution
to concealing the spiralling volume of our traffic would be
to supply the stations with 10,000 dummy code-groups a week for
transmission round the clock to all parts of Europe. I then reminded
him (not because he needed to be reminded but because I liked saying
it) that each message would be encoded in a "WOK, LOP or poem,
and would be indistinguishable from our genuine traffic, and stressed
that the sooner these dummy transmissions started the better.
The Guru expressed concern about the extra work dummy traffic
would cause coders and WT operators.
I replied that I couldn't answer for the WT operators but I could
for the coders and pointed out that to simulate LOP-traffic, the girls
had only to copy out the code-groups of a one-time pad, and hand
them over for transmission.
But I conceded that simulating WOK and poem-code traffic would
be a very different matter: all such messages were the product of
double-transposition, and if their code-groups didn't contain the correct
proportion of vowels and consonants they'd be recognized as
counterfeit. Since we couldn't devise the texts ourselves, we'd have
488
to rely on the country sections to compose large numbers of dummy
messages as if they were genuine, but I doubted if they'd agree to
this request without considerable pressure.
The Guru expressed his gratification at the prospect of applying it,
and undertook to call a meeting of the country section heads to
explain what was required of them.
Glancing at his watch, he announced with a sigh that it was time
we dealt with iodoforms. He agreed that it was impossible to dispense
with them, and was relieved when I admitted that the only suggestion
I could make about concealing their growth was to introduce dummy
iodoforms immediately.
I added that even though the BBC surrounded our iodoforms with
other 'personal messages' (some genuine, the rest dummy), there
weren't nearly enough of them, and their quantity must be doubled,
though it would mean asking for extra airtime.
He immediately undertook to contact Major Buxton (our liaison
officer with the BBC) to ensure that we got it. He then glanced at
his overflowing in-tray, and silently conveyed that the meeting was
over.
But I had bad news for him. 'There's just one more problem .. .'
'There always is with you. Well? What is it?'
'A lot of the dummy traffic would have to be Free French.'
'Well? What of it?'
'Valois may not like the idea of dummy messages, and his word is
law in Duke Street - just as yours is with us. What can we do if he
won't cooperate?'
'I shall leave Valois to you,' he announced magnanimously.
He had just enough energy to point to the door.
Passy, Manuel and Valois were all convinced of Valois's brilliance,
and for once I agreed with them completely.
The French wizard and I had had no further disputes since he'd
stopped needing secret code prefixes, though he still believed that the
outcome of the Signals war depended on radios and signal-plans,
with codes bringing up the rear, preferably someone else's. It would
be the first time we'd met without Kay Moore having to act as our
interpreter (his English was on a par with my French) but I knew
489
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
that if we didn't speak the same language now we never would.
He rose from behind a desk even more cluttered than mine, and I
had no difficulty in understanding his opening remark. 'Ah, Tommee.'
he said, and shook his head sadly.
I accepted a cup of his atrocious coffee, and thanked him for seeing
me at such short notice but we had a 'tres important problem que
the deux of us must discutez'.
He appeared to get the drift of this. 'Probleme, Monsieur Marks?
Quel probleme? What is it?'
I expounded 'Ie probleme de our growing traffic et Ie need pour
dummy messages' as succinctly as I could, but five minutes later
caught him looking at me in such total bewilderment that I was about
to telephone Kay Moore for assistance when something in his eyes
stopped me.
Shaking his head as if to remove the droppings of my pigeonFrench,
he explained in Valois-English that he'd been thinking of
telephoning me to suggest dummy traffic but wasn't sure how I'd
respond.
I accepted another cup of coffee because it was suddenly delicious,
and we spent the next hour discussing 'Ie probleme', which we
approached from completely different viewpoints.
Many of his ideas for misleading the enemy, such as using variable
frequencies at irregular intervals with identical call-signs, were completely
beyond me, and mine for making some messages look easy to
break meant little to him. But one thing was clear to both of us: we
were speaking the same language. We were both convinced that the
dummy traffic should start as soon as possible, and he promised that
his Duke Street colleagues would provide suitable texts.
I didn't know the French for 'keep stumm' but had no difficulty
in convincing him that the less we said to our respective chiefs about
our little tricks the better. He also agreed that to facilitate our phonecalls
we should give the dummy traffic a code-name only he and I
would know. I tried to persuade him to choose one but he insisted
on leaving the code-name to me.
I remembered his opening remark. 'How about calling it "R. Tommee"?' I suggested.
It was unanimously adopted.
490
On 26 March we learned that Tommy had been transferred to
Fresnes prison.
Perhaps it was coincidence, but later that night we transmitted our
first batch of 'R. Tommee' messages.
491
SIXTY-FIVE
'The Life that I Have9
One of the most novel experiences in SOE was to receive a phone
call from a country section head admitting he was wrong, but Maurice
Buckmaster phoned on 23 March and apologized to me for 'making
another gaffe'.
He admitted that he'd mistakenly believed that one of his trainee
agents, who'd been taught codes at training school, would have no
use for them whatever when she reached the field, and he'd excluded
her from the list of agents due for refresher courses in London. Her
code-name was Louise, and she was to have been dropped into France
in mid-march with Maurice Southgate to act as his courier, but their
drop had been postponed until April because of the weather.
He and Southgate had since decided it might be useful if Louise
could use encoded messages in an emergency. Could she possibly be
given a refresher course immediately, and would I give her a final
code-briefing as soon as I could?
I agreed to send an instructress to Orchard Court within the next
ten minutes, and to give Louise a final briefing later in the week.
He phoned again the next morning to thank me for the instructress,
and to say he'd made another mistake. Louise might not be in London
for more than a couple of days. Could I possibly give her a final
briefing at once?
Although I was used to briefing his women agents (they included
Noor, Odette and an Australian boomerang named Nancy Wake), I
was still uneasy in their presence and needed adequate warning to
practise growing-up, but Maurice pressed me for an answer and I
reluctantly agreed to see Louise in an hour.
I then remembered that most women agents seemed slightly more
492
approachable when I addressed them by their real names, and I asked
him what hers was.
'Violette Szabo,' he said, and hung up to take another call.
According to her instructress's report, Violette had no problems with
her WOK but was careless with her poem-code, and seemed unable
to number her transposition keys without making mistakes. More
practice was recommended.
I stood outside Orchard Court for ten minutes to sharpen my inner
ear and convince myself that the code war's only problem was helping
Louise, then opened the door of the briefing room.
A dark-haired slip of mischief rose from behind a desk which Noor
had once occupied, held out her hand, and smiled.
It seemed inappropriate for the head of Codes to mark the occasion
by singing 'Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise', so I shook
her hand in silence.*
Resuming her seat, she picked up a WOK which was lying in front
of her and declared the proceedings open. 'I like this code,' she said,
'but Colonel Buckmaster thinks it won't be safe for me to carry it. I
had such a good place to hide it, too.' She had a cockney accent,
which added to her impishness.
Professor Higgins instructed Eliza Doolittle to encode a WOK
message at least 200 letters long.
She complied at once (everything about her was immediate, especially
her impact) and I watched her covertly, though I suspected she
knew it.
She was the first agent whose exact age I wanted to know (she was
clearly in her early twenties), and I wondered what this had to do
with the job in hand, and what my inner ear was up to.
She finished encoding her message in under twenty minutes (which put her in Knut Haugland's class if she'd enciphered it correctly), and
I picked it up to check it.
'Oops sorry,' she said. She then snatched it back and inserted her
* This song, which Maurice Chevalier made famous in the early thirties, was Archambault's
reserve poem. Several other agents had asked permission to use it, but it was a case of first come, first disserved.
493
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
security checks (she had to change her printed indicator-groups by
adding one to every first letter and four to every third).
Our hands touched as she returned the message, and I was tempted
to say, 'Oops sorry' for what I was thinking. I tried to concentrate
on her message.
It was flawlessly encoded, and contained 200 letters instead of the
minimum of 100 I'd stipulated (the only other agent to have enciphered
more letters than strictly necessary was Knut Haugland). It was
also in a mixture of English and French, a security precaution most
trainees forgot, and she'd signed off 'that's all for now' (even experienced
agents still clung to 'message ends'). Her dummy letters didn't
contain a single 'x' or 'z', and seemed on the verge of spelling a
swear-word. I realized that she was intelligent as well as quick-witted
and said a silent prayer that she wasn't also telepathic.
I warned her that she must cut away the keys from her silk as soon
as she'd used them.
'I don't think I could - silk is so expensive.'
'So is a captured agent if her back traffic can be read.'
She promised that she'd will herself to do it.
I then asked her to encode a message in her poem, and to make
sure it contained at least 200 letters.
She took a deep breath, then wrote out five words from her
poem as if each one soiled the paper, and proceeded to number
them.
I glanced at her code-card. Her poem was in French, and seemed
to be a nursery rhyme based on 'Three Blind Mice'.
She certainly behaved like one as she scurried from letter to letter
trying to number her key-phrase. She finally succeeded, and thirty
minutes later handed me her message for checking. It was exactly
200 letters long.
I handed it back without making contact, and asked her to decode it
herself. I knew it was indecipherable long before I heard her muttering
something in French which was considerably more substantial than
'Oops sorry'.
'It won't come out.' She looked at me in despair. 'Why do I keep
making mistakes?'
She thumped her forehead: 'Pourquoi, pourquoi, pourquoi?'
494
I asked her to encode a second message while I tried to find out
pourquoi.
'But I'm taking up so much of your time.'
'I've got all day,' I said. And hoped that I'd need it.
'If I get it wrong this time I'll . . .' She finished the sentence in
French, then snatched up her pencil and began her new assault while
I examined the indecipherable.
She'd misspelt one of the five words she'd chosen from her poem,
which threw out the whole of her transposition-key. I waited until
Little Miss Skinnarland had finished her new message, and pointed
out what she'd done.
'But the code's so easy. Why can't I get it right?' She thrust her
new effort at me without waiting for an answer, but I again insisted
that she decoded it herself.
A pounding on the desk announced the result. 'I've done it again.
It won't come out.'
Her pencil snapped in two, and her face snapped with it from the
weight of self-disgust.
I took the message from her before she could tear it up, and rapidly
checked it. 'You've misspelt your poem again. Trois' should have an
's' on it.'
; She muttered something like 'C'est pas possible', and looked at me
I 'despairingly. 'If Colonel Buckmaster hears about this he may not let
I me go in.'
| 'He won't hear about it because we're going to get it right.'
j I 'But how?'
| A sensible question. Her only mistakes had been to misspell the
|words of her poem, and she'd done this consistently. Since Freud
J believed that all mistakes were unconsciously motivated and I believed
|Preud, I wondered if she were reacting against the poem because it
l^ad unconscious associations for her.
\. Professor Dr Sigmund Marks asked whether she'd chosen it herself
jor whether the training school had issued it to her.
'I chose it. It's a nursery rhyme I learned at school and I know it
ickwards. Why?'
I explained that some agents who were otherwise good coders often
ide spelling mistakes in their key-phrases, and we'd found that they
495
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
weren't really happy with their poems, though they didn't always
know why.
She considered the matter carefully. 'I hadn't thought of it that
way.' Her expression was troubled, and she seemed to have left
Orchard Court for some childhood briefing room.
She returned a few moments later to the poem-bound present. 'I
shouldn't have chosen it. I couldn't spell it as a child, and I still can't
... I'd like to change it but I suppose it's too late.'
'Do you know any others?'
'They're all nursery rhymes, and I'd feel so stupid if I used one I
know I would. . . . Look, let me try another message . ..'
'How about trying another poem?'
'Could I?'
'Are you a quick learner?'
'I am at some things, but they're nothing to do with codes.'
The imp was back, and looked at me appealingly. 'Do you know
a poem you'd like me to try?'
For the first time since Xmas Eve I thought of the words which
had occurred to me on the roof of Norgeby House. I wrote them in
block capitals on a sheet of squared paper, and checked the spelling
before handing them over.
I then did what I could to descend from the roof.
An aircrash or two later I heard a tiny intake of breath, and turned
to look at her. She was speaking the words to herself, and I felt I
was intruding on her privacy.
She finally looked up at me. 'I could learn this in a few minutes. I
promise you I could.'
'You're sure you want to?'
'Oh yes. Oh yes. I almost know it now.'
'Well then . . . take those few minutes, then encode two messages
in it. I'll come back this time tomorrow and go through them with
you.'
She promised she'd be ready.
At least I had a good reason for seeing her again.
She stood up when I entered the briefing room, waiting until I was
seated opposite her, then made a simple statement of fact:
496
The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.
It was she who broke the silence. 'Who wrote this?'
'I'll check up, and let you know when you come back.'
I had a gut feeling that she wasn't going to, and busied myself
checking the two messages she'd encoded. Each was 300 letters long,
and there wasn't a single mistake in either.
Not knowing if she'd been up all night encoding them, I asked her
to encode another message in front of me. '200 letters will be enough.'
She set to work at once, and produced a 200-letter message in
under fifteen minutes. It was perfectly encoded.
I congratulated her, finalized her security checks, and reminded her
to cut away the keys of her silk. I wasn't sure how to say 'that's
all for now' because for me it certainly wasn't, but she solved the
problem.
'I've got a present for you.' She fumbled in her handbag and produced
a miniature chess-set which she said she'd won at a shootinggallery.*
Holding it out shyly, she said she thought that people who
* I also discovered that she was the deadliest shot her training school had yet encountered.
Since she rarely had enough money to buy cigarettes she used to win them at shooting
497
BBTWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
invented codes were sure to play chess and she'd like me to have it
for all the help I'd given her.
I tried to thank her for giving me a first edition of Caxton's Game
and Playe ofChesse (which was how it felt), but she gently interrupted
to say that she was late for an appointment with Vera Atkins, who
wanted to check everything she was taking in with her.
I told her I looked forward to playing chess with her when she
returned from France, and she said she'd like that too as it would
give her time to learn it.
I unlocked the special drawer in my desk and put her chess-set
between my other prize possessions: Rabinovitch's photograph of Joe
Louis's left hook and Tommy's cigar.
I then surrendered the words of the poem to Muriel as they'd
formally become a code.
I didn't think Ruth would mind.
498
SIXTY-SIX
April Fool's Day
Like all organizations riddled with the stress which they were trying
to inflict on others, SOE was full of practical jokers (some of them
aware of it) and on 1 April I was relieved to discover that I was
sufficiently well regarded to be targeted as an April fool.
That was my first impression when I received an urgent call on the
scrambler from Ken Howell (chief signalmaster at 53b), who was
anxious to read a message to me which had just been received from
Holland in plain language over the Heck/Blue set.
By the end of the first sentence I realized that the catch in his voice
was unlikely to be confected as he was neither an actor nor a politician,
and I listened in silence till he'd finished.
I then asked him to read it again and teleprint the message to
London.
IN THE LAST TIME YOU ARE TRYING TO MAKE BUSINESS IN THE
NETHERLANDS WITHOUT OUR ASSISTANCE STOP WE THINK THIS
RATHER UNFAIR IN VIEW OUR LONG AND SUCCESSFUL COOPERATION
AS YOUR SOLE AGENTS STOP BUT NEVER MIND
WHENEVER YOU WILL COME TO PAY A VISIT TO THE CONTINENT
YOU MAY BE ASSURED THAT YOU WILL BE RECEIVED WITH
SAME CARE AND RESULT AS ALL THOSE YOU SENT US BEFORE
STOP SO LONG
1 April 1944, sent on HECK/BLUE set.
* The name Blunt had been used by Major Blizzard as a pseudonym when he was head of N section.
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BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
The identical message had been transmitted by ten other agents,
including Ebenezer, Parsnip, Turnip and Beetroot. 53b had acknowledged
four of them but on Heffer's instructions had ignored the rest.
I learned from Muriel (queen of the grapevine) that Nick had
walked into his office and that a copy of Giskes's message (he had
no need to sign it) was waiting on his desk.
I realized what a bastard I was for feeling even a moment's elation
at being proved right, but this wasn't the moment to dwell on my
more endearing characteristics. It was time to concentrate on Giskes's,
and I compiled a list of questions, knowing that only he could answer
most of them.
What did he gain by confirming over ten channels that we were
kaput in Holland when he must know that even we would realize
that our Belgian escape routes must also be blown, and that many
Belgian agents were under arrest?
Had he decided that London was so suspicious of him that there
was no longer any point in trying to deceive us? If so, what had
caused him to make this decision?
Was it the cessation of dropping operations? Or the arrival in
London of Ubbrinck and Dourlein? Or the impossibility of answering
N section's questions?
Was his message designed to discredit SOE with the Chiefs of
Staff? Or had he sent it for career considerations? Was it better for
him in the eyes of his superiors to cease contact with us before we
broke it off with him?
As for Signals, had he learned of the existence of WOKs and LOPs
and realized that London's indecipherable to Boni (Plan Giskes) was
a trap he'd walked into?
Had he learned of the exchange of 'Heil Hitler' call-signs?
I looked up to find Nick watching me from the doorway. He said
that he wanted to talk to me as soon as he'd finished a council
meeting. Although his eyes watered so frequently that we referred to
him as Niagara Nick, I was certain that the liquid trickling down his
nose was caused by defective vision concerning Holland.
I realized that the more time I wasted, the greater Giskes's triumph
would be, and resumed my efforts to prepare for D-Day.
» * »
500
APRIL FOOL'S DAY
On the night of 5 April, Violette and Philippe Leiwer (Southgate)
boarded an aircraft and were dropped near Chateau Dun.
It would be Ruth's first trip to France.
501
SIXTY-SEVEN
The New Boys
By mid-April the Americans were communicating so freely with us,
and we with them, that it was hard to believe we were allies. Until
exposed to them in bulk, all I really knew about their mother-country
was that it contained many of 84's best customers, and that Spencer
Tracy (the finest actor I'd seen apart from Heffer in a hurry) was
born there.
But the OSS were a nostalgic lot, and after a series of late-night
sessions with them I could have gone shopping in New York, or brothelhunting
in LA, and knew where to find an honest game of bridge in
Washington.
On less serious matters, they were appalled to learn of our acute
shortage of silk, and had promised to deliver large quantities from
the States, 'even if it meant stripping Mae West's tits'. The first consignment
had already arrived.
An even more welcome surprise was their ability to run their own
wireless station (53c), with Americans manning the radio sets and a
F ANY-staffed room from which was controlled by an assiduous
young captain named Phoenix.
None of us believed that the new boys would be capable of taking
over the Scandinavian traffic from 53b without serious consequences,
but throughout the two months in which they'd been handling it not
a single SOE agent had suffered from their inexperience. Nor had
any of the FANYs who'd queued up to be exposed to it.
Our joint Jedburgh operations would be their ultimate test as the
traffic would be handled entirely by them, and they'd have only their
own mistakes to learn from.
One of our few remaining reservations was their concept of
502
security. They may have been teasing us (one of their favourite relaxations)
but a rumour had reached Nick that they'd invited Time
Magazine to visit 53c and photograph its interior. Believing them
capable of any indiscretion provided it was great enough, he'd gently
informed them that although he had nothing against the magazine
he was a little concerned about its circulation and its effect on General
Gubbins's.
No matter what differences arose between us, they were promptly
settled by Commander Graveson (their head of Signals), usually in
our favour.
'Gravy' held frequent meetings with Nick, and I had to attend
several of them. They were arduous affairs: Gravy found it hard to
believe that when Nick closed his eyes it wasn't because he'd dozed
off out of boredom, or had given up in despair at the Americans'
stupidity, but because he was communing with his private WT
stations.
It was at Gravy's instigation that I was invited to give a lecture at
his sacrosanct Grosvenor Square headquarters for the benefit (he
hoped) of the main-line coders who knew 'damn-all' about agents'
traffic. It would also be attended by some OSS staff officers, who
knew even less.
I was admitted the following day to a building so innocuous that
only the enemy would suspect what it contained, and escorted to a
large lecture room, where fifty or so of our unfortunate saviours
awaited whatever was about to be inflicted on them in the name of
Anglo-American relations. Gravy explained my credentials, which
didn't take long, and seated himself in the front row next to an officer
whom I subsequently identified as William Casey.*
Nick, who'd recently lectured the OSS on signals and had been
strangely subdued for the rest of the week, had warned me that they
were a 'hard lot to talk to', and I decided to be strictly factual and
make no attempt to sell myself, an altogether new departure.
I wrote out two messages of equal length on the blackboard, and
invited them to help me break them.
Their responses to the parlour-game were so immediate, and their
* Head of the CIA during Nixon's regime but a major asset when we knew him.
503
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
guesses (even when wrong) so imaginative, that half an hour later I
wanted to head-hunt the lot of them, Gravy included. They were the
sharpest bunch I'd yet encountered, and had no difficulty in reconstructing
the key-phrase 'Yankee Doodle Dandy'. They gazed respectfully
at the silk panaceas (including the Jedburgh code-book) which
I brandished aloft, but I sensed that the code war's artifacts didn't
interest them as much as its humanities, and I described the FANYs'
round-the-clock dedication to breaking indecipherables. There was a
gasp or two when I announced that their success rate was over 90
per cent. Our briefing techniques and selection procedure were also
box-office.
They kept their real perceptiveness for question-time. They were
particularly interested to know what instructions I gave the girls when
they aroused agents late at night to help them practise their coding.
I replied that they weren't expected to give them the wrong kind of
arousal, though I suspected that there would be no finer mnemonic
than pussy.
A giant sergeant with a striking resemblance to Joe Louis then
raised his hand and asked who was the most difficult agent I'd ever
briefed personally, and to my surprise his question met with widespread
approval.
'If you really want the answer, it's the hell of a long one.'
They insisted that they did.
I told them that his code-name was Lemur (his real name was
Raoul Latimer), and that besides being highly intelligent and
exceptionally resourceful he had the added distinction of being one
of the few agents in the SOE who was both an organizer and a
WT operator, which required attributes rarely found in the same
individual.
He'd been taught to use a poem-code (the only system in use at
the time) and dropped into Belgium in November '42 to report on
the progress of the Belgian Secret Army which he was helping its
zone commanders to form.
He was recalled to London in late '43 after transmitting a series
of flawlessly encoded messages, and was scheduled to return to Belgium
a month ago with the code-name Pandarus. His new mission
was to teach untrained partisans to use codes and WT sets, start a
504
radio network with London, and communicate with each other on
D-Day. It would be a difficult enough task for an entire training
school, let alone for an agent in the field.
Our problems with him began when he returned to his training
school for a refresher course. His despairing instructor couldn't
understand why anyone of his intelligence was unable to use a onetime
pad without making mistakes which 'even the biggest idiots
managed to avoid'. (I broke off to explain that even Commander
Graveson had mastered a LOP in under ten minutes. I also explained
that Pandarus had made an equally spectacular balls-up when he
tried to use a WOK.)
I'd spent a whole morning with him making him practise both
systems, but for every mistake I pointed out he made two new ones.
It was a magnificent performance of sustained imbecility.* I finally
gave up explaining the advances of WOK s and LOPs and asked why
he was determined not to use them.
'They're too fucking dangerous to carry. Besides, they're too difficult
... I've come this far with the poem-code, and I'm bloody well
going to stick with it.' He then recited three new poems, all of them
in French (he was bilingual), which he already knew by heart and
intended to use for his future traffic.
I reminded him that his mission was to teach codes to the partisans,
and asked if he proposed to memorize all their poems.
'If I have to.'
He finally conceded that he might take a batch of microfilmed
poems with him but under no circumstances would he carry silk
codes, even if they were camouflaged. The Germans weren't the cunts
London seemed to think they were, and he had enough trouble hiding
his radio sets without walking about with half a ton of silk stuck up
his arse.
I assured him that I didn't want to damage his Low Countries, and
undertook to provide him with microfilmed poems on waterproof
| paper and leave it at that.
IE,
* Like many of our best agents, he had the makings of an actor, though most of our actors, with the exception of Anthony Quayle, were poor agents.
505
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
The suspicious bastard then wanted to know why I'd changed my
mind so quickly.
Praying that my timing was right, because nothing else was, I admitted
to him that although I'd reserved a batch of WOKs and LOPs
for his partisans, I was relieved that they wouldn't be needed because
they were in very short supply, and the Belgian section's priority
wasn't as high as some other country sections . . .
'If you gentlemen were in your offices that morning and heard an
explosion from the direction of Baker Street, it was Pandarus fighting
for the rights of the Belgian partisans.'
As soon as he'd quietened down to a frenzy, he announced that I wasn't
the only one who could change his mind, and that on thinking things
over he'd decided that silk codes did keep messages shorter and were more secure, and he intended to take some with him just as an
experiment.
I reminded him that he'd found them difficult to use.
'Who, me?'
He then encoded two WOK/LOP messages in close to record time
without a single mistake, and half an hour later we finalized his
security checks.
On 3 March he parachuted into Belgium to start a Signals
course for the Secret Army. He took camouflaged silk codes with
him as well as microfilmed poems, WT sets, signal-plans and
crystals.
'And that, gentlemen, is the most difficult individual I've ever had
to brief with the exception of a certain naval commander whose name
I needn't mention.' I was convinced that they'd heard enough about
Pandarus but I'd forgotten whom I was dealing with.
Three of them (including Bill Casey) wanted to know what he'd
achieved in the field, and I was delighted to tell them that he'd taught
over 100 freedom fighters to use WOKs and LOPs, and given them
their security checks. He'd also taught them to use microfilmed poems
in case of emergencies. Their first LOP messages had already reached
London, and were perfectly encoded. The one-man Signals directorate
had also recruited some WT operators, and was training them in a
flat in Brussels. Satisfied with their progress, he'd begun issuing them
with WT sets (which he'd hidden in a safe-house in Verlaine until
506
they were needed, though I didn't say so for security reasons). He'd
also given them signal-plans, crystals and codes.
There was a chorus of approval. Although I'd exceeded my scheduled
time by twenty minutes (which they probably expected from an
Englishman), they hadn't finished with me yet and asked a score of
other questions about SOE generally. The final one came from a
bemedalled major, who I ultimately discovered was head of a
psychiatric unit. He wanted to know what the agents were most
frightened of.
I replied that above all else they were scared of a lady dentist who
had to make sure that none of their fillings were of English origin.
She had also to change the impressions of their teeth before they left
for the field in case the Germans had records of them. And she used
continental-style Platarcke to hollow out their teeth and make cavities
for L-tablets.* We had learned never to brief agents within a week
either side of their appointments with her. There were a number of
open mouths as I described how she did it, but I wasn't asked for
her address.
I left Grosvenor Square with only one disappointment.
I'd counted on somebody spotting a serious flaw in what I'd said
and questioning me about it, but no one had.
It concerned Pandarus. I'd carefully planted that he had to give
security checks to other agents. But how safely could they use these
checks if Pandarus was aware of them and might himself be caught?
Was this SOE's idea of good security?
The day after my visit I was sent for by Nick. He held out a piece of paper in silence (never a good sign) and waited impatiently while
I read it.
It was a memo from Hardy Amies (head of the Belgian section) to
a senior member of the government-in-exile, whose confidence in SOE was waning:
" * Her name was Beryl Murray-Da vies, and Buckmaster made sure that his agents were taken to her Wimpole Street consulting rooms by car to ensure their arrival.
507
BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE

M.0.1. (S.P.)
21st April 1944
EHA/1274
Major Hardy Amies
Colonel J. Marissal,
40 Eaton Square,
S.W.I.

My dear Colonel,
pandarus
I thought you would be interested in the following information
volunteered by our coding and signal department.
'pandarus has done extremely well from the signals point of
view. Before he left he was briefed by signals to give manelaus
an identity check. This was in such a form that pandarus himself, if caught later by the enemy, would be unable to remember it. The
position now is that manelaus is using the check.
'This is the first time in SOE history that an agent recruited in
the field has been given an identity check without anything passing
in writing!'
The same system of identity check will, in due course, be used
by the Zone Commanders when they use their own codes.
Yours sincerely,
Nick reminded me as head of Signals that he was my zone commander,
and asked if I'd kindly tell him the secret of Pandarus's
ability to forget the security checks which he had to pass on.
Astonished by its simplicity, he stared at the ceiling and muttered,
'Jesus.' (Pandarus, who'd blasphemed so frequently I was convinced
he was devout, said he'd try the system out. He was the first agent
to use it but unless I could find a way to vary it, was likely to be the
last.)*
I hurried back to my office and wrote a UFA (unsuitable for agents)
for the girls to reconstruct:
* I have been advised that for security reasons I must forget how it worked! Has nothing changed in fifty years except Britain's prestige?
508
She liked smiling
At strangers
And the last one
Who smiled back at her
Took her to some woods
And she was still smiling
When they found her.
She liked black horses
And would have fondled them
If she could
When they drove her to her rest
Aged eight
Will one of your staff
Please explain to her
Why you were out of your office
That day
She calls you Mister Goddy
And will smile at you too
If given the chance.
I realized that April was almost over but I might still have time to
contribute something useful.
If given the chance.
509
SIXTY-EIGHT
Inexcusable
On 30 April five Dutch agents (including Cricket and Swale) were dropped blind into Holland, each taking with him a LOP and a
WOK with a poem in reserve.
On the same night Violette Szabo was picked up by Lysander and
returned to England.
Also on the same night I realized how unlucky agents were to
depend on me for their safety. I'd made a mistake which could have
cost many of them their lives, and while the rest of SOE welcomed
May as their last chance to prepare for D-Day (it was expected in
June) I relived that mistake in case I could learn from it.
It concerned a Buckmaster agent code-named Bricklayer, whose
real name was France Anteime, field-name Renault, and who, according
to Charlotte, was an 'agent extraordinaire'. It was easier (and
still is) to dwell on what made him extraordinary than on what I'd
done to make him extinct.
In his early forties and exceedingly rich (he'd inherited sugar,
tobacco and coconut plantations in Mauritius), he was an astute
businessman with a large number of high-level financial, industrial
and political contacts, especially in Paris. He'd been dropped into
France in November '42, and returned to London in March '43. He
was dropped again in May '43 and returned in July '43. In the course
of these missions he'd persuaded bankers and industrialists to make
substantial contributions to Resistance activities (and to set aside vast
sums of currency for the invading forces), reported the collapse of
Prosper to London, and been a great help to Bodington. He'd also
found a safe-house for Noor Inayat Khan (Madeleine). But to Buckmaster
the most important part of Antelme's activities was his efforts
510
to persuade Edouard Herriot (the former Prime Minister, and France's
'Grand Old Man') to return to England with him. If he could achieve
this, it would be a major coup for F section, especially as Herriot
was in close touch with the new Premier, Paul Reynaud. But Herriot
had so far resisted on grounds of old age.
Determined to try again, Anteime was due to return to France
in February '44. And this was the start of the code department's
nightmare.
A hard man to dissuade once his mind was made up (and an
awkward customer at the best of times), Antheime had decided that
he would return to a dropping ground and reception committee
organized by the highly suspect Phono circuit, of which Noor was
an active member. Although Buckmaster and George Noble tried to
convince him that Noor was caught, and showed him the two-way
traffic they'd exchanged with her in an effort to prolong her life, he
refused to believe them. Nor would he accept that Phono was blown. Noble then explained that Noor had a 'special' security check which
she must use only if she were caught, and showed him how it worked.
But Anteime maintained that she'd used it by accident or hadn't
understood the check in the first place.
Buckmaster tried to persuade him to 'drop blind' but he refused
to consider it; and Maurice (anxious not to antagonize him and perhaps
not quite as convinced of Noor's capture as Noble and I were)
finally agreed to instruct the Phono circuit to prepare to receive Bricklayer
and two other agents during the next moon period. They must
also be prepared to receive fourteen containers.
Maurice then took the precaution (as he saw it) of sending in four
young agents on 8 February to prepare for Bricklayer's arrival. They
included an American WT operator named Robert Byerley, to whom
I'd given an 'extended briefing' in the use of his one-time pad and
checks. On 10 February he sent a message in his LOP confirming his
safe arrival, but his security checks were wrong. Noble at once asked
him a test question, to which he should have answered 'Merry Xmas'.
The following day he replied, 'Happy New Year'.
Although there was no doubt that Byerley (and presumably his three companions) had been caught, Bricklayer insisted on proceeding with his plans, and on 29 February he was dropped near Chartres
511
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
accompanied by his WT operator, Daks (Lionel Lee), and a youne
Frenchwoman (Madeleine Damerment), who was to act as his courier.
On 2 March Noor sent a message confirming that arms, radio
equipment and money had been successfully dropped but that Bricklayer
had severely damaged his head on landing. She amplified this
a few days later by saying he'd been taken to hospital, that he was
in a coma, and that according to his doctors his condition was critical.
Nothing had yet been heard from Daks, and London demanded to
know why he hadn't reported the accident himself.
After another week of radio silence (an awesome sound) Daks sent
a message in his one-time pad explaining that his WT set had been
damaged on landing, and this accounted for the delay. He confirmed
that Bricklayer had been taken to hospital and was still in a coma.
So were Daks's security checks: the code room supervisor had
marked his message 'security checks incorrect' but hadn't given the
details.
Knowing that he was an erratic coder who'd frequently omitted
his security checks in training or substituted those of his own making,
I sent for the code-groups so that I could examine them myself.
Like all WOK/LOP users, he'd been taught never to transmit the
indicator-groups exactly as they were printed but to change them by
prearranged numbers. He was to add 4 to the second letter and 3 to
the third. If he changed them by any other numbers we'd know that
he'd been caught. The indicator in his first message was dbopr, and
he should have changed it to dfrpr to tell us he was safe. But instead
he'd inverted the last two letters of dbopr and transmitted dborp.
I immediately informed Noble that we must assume Daks was
under duress, but warned him he'd made exactly the same inversions
in two of his training messages, and that there was an outside chance
that he was having one of his lapses. Noble hoped that he was but
didn't think it likely and undertook to ask him some personal questions
immediately. He added that Bricklayer and Daks had been
instructed to cut contact with the Phono circuit as soon as they'd
landed, but he was convinced that they hadn't done so.
On 8 April Daks transmitted two more messages, and the supervisor
at 53a telephoned me to report that she'd decoded them herself,
and that he'd used his security checks correctly. Since she was the
512
most reliable of all our supervisors, I didn't ask her to teleprint the
code-groups to London so that I could double-check them. Instead I
informed Noble that Daks was now using his security checks correctly,
though there must still be a question-mark against him.
Noble phoned me soon afterwards with an even larger one. Was
I certain that Daks's security checks were correct? He'd made no
attempt to answer his personal questions.
Ten minutes later I did the double-checking I should have done in
the first place. Daks had again inverted the last two letters of his
indicator group, but had made no attempt to change the second and
third letters by the requisite numbers. Yet the supervisor had told me
that his checks were correct. I telephoned to ask her what she thought
they were, unaware that the Decline and Fall of the Holy Coding
Empire was only seconds away.
According to the station's code-card, Daks hadn't been given any
secret numbers. All he had to do to tell us he was safe was insert
three sets of dummy letters at the beginning, middle and end of every
message. He'd failed to do so in his first message but had inserted
them correctly in the two we'd just received.
We'd sent the station the wrong code-card. The one she believed
to be Daks's was a copy of the conventions he'd used at training
school before his checks had been finalized. He'd been taught to insert
three sets of dummy letters as an additional check, and this was all
that he'd remembered. I asked what significance she'd attached to
the inversion of his indicator-groups.
She replied, 'None at all.' She then reminded me that I'd warned
the girls that many agents found their silks difficult to read, and that
their indicators were often Morse-mutilated, and she'd assumed that
either or both of these factors accounted for Daks's inversions. She
also thought I'd given him a 'special check' as I had to Noor, and
that it consisted only of inserting dummy letters.
But the Daks disaster didn't end there. I discovered that his real
code-card was nestling in his training file and had never been dispatched.
I also discovered that a trusted member of the typing pool had misspelt two words of his poem.
| However, the real mistakes were mine. I'd neglected to examine
|fais code-groups myself, and if Noble hadn't questioned my assurances
513
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
about his security checks, the cost to F section's agents would have
been unquantifiable,
I felt equally guilty about the typing errors and our failure to send
the right code-card as I'd chosen the girls responsible and should
have realized that their limitations were almost as great as mine.
I tried to confess the balls-up to Noble but Buckmaster took the
call. I explained what had happened, admitted that the mistake was
entirely my fault, and said that there could no longer be any doubt
that Daks had been caught.
There was a moment's silence, the longest I'd known in a conversation
with Buckmaster. 'Ah well,' he said, 'it's only agents' lives
which are at stake . ..'
On 20 April Daks regretted to inform London that Bricklayer had
died in hospital without recovering consciousness.
On the 21st Noor sent a similar message, and asked whether
London would be sending a replacement.
If there'd been any justice, I'd have volunteered.
On 5 May we received our first message from Holland in a onetime
pad. It was in Cricket's code, and had been transmitted by Swale.
Cricket reported that the RVV (the clandestine organization he'd
been ordered to contact) didn't want a liaison officer; it needed a
bloody nursemaid. His security checks were correct.
On 8 May Swale reported that he was transmitting from an attic
which wasn't properly earthed, and wanted to know whether his
key-clicks would disturb other radios. He also enquired about the
dangers of DF-ing in Amsterdam, which he feared were considerable.
His security checks were correct.
For the next ten days the agents kept in regular contact with
London. Cricket reported that he was trying to arrange a dropping
point so that the RVV could receive arms and explosives. He was
also trying to put them in radio contact with London so that they
could receive instructions from the Allied High Command when
they'd established their bridgeheads. (He'd been authorized to give
the RVV 50,000 florins when he considered it appropriate.)
Swale reported that German troop-trains were moving soldiers
from Holland to Paris, and asked if he could be told the date of the
514
invasion a few days in advance as half Amsterdam's police force
would go into hiding to avoid being sent to Germany.
On 19 May he reported that he was training a new WT operator
to take over his skeds on alternate weeks, and asked permission to
show him his signal-plan. He also repeated his request to be told the
date of the invasion as it was very important. But, for the first time
in nine messages, he'd used the wrong security checks. He should
have added 2 to the second letter of his indicator-group and 4 to the
fourth. Instead he'd added 19 to the second letter and 20 to the
fourth.
I informed Dobson (head of N section) that Swale had been caught.
On 20 May Dobson asked him for the full name of his new WT
operator, and regretted that he was unable to give him the date of
the invasion.
On 21 May Swale supplied the name of his new operator, and
repeated his request to be allowed to show him his signal-plan. This
time he added 21 to the second letter of his indicator-group and 22
to the fourth, and I wondered what his pattern was.
On 22 May Dobson authorized him to share his signal-plan with
the new operator, and then asked him a test question: 'What do you
know?' If he was safe, he'd reply, 'American soldier.'
On 23 May he replied, 'American sailor.' He also reported that
he'd been unable to deliver London's messages to Faro as his cutout
had disappeared. This time he'd added 23 to the second letter of his
indicator-group, and 24 to the fourth, and I realized that he'd told
the Germans he had to alter his indicator-group according to the
date!
On the 24th London informed him that Cricket had been instructed
to cut contact with Faro as he might be in danger, and advised him
for his sake to do the same.
On 22 May Cricket sent a message giving London a dropping
point. For the first time in fourteen messages his security checks
were incorrect. He should have added 2 to the second letter of his
indicator-group and 3 to the third. Instead he'd added 4 to the fourth
letter and 5 to the fifth. He'd also numbered his message 14 when it
should have been 15.
I told Dobson that Cricket had also been caught and offered to
515
BETWEEN SILK AND CYAMIDE
show him the checks if he had any doubts. But he'd already suspected
it.
On 24 May he informed Cricket that his dropping ground couldn't
be accepted, and reminded him that for his own safety he should cut
contact with Faro. The two-way bluff traffic showed no signs of
abating, and I didn't envy Dobson the onus of sustaining it.
But May's losses weren't confined to France and Holland. Pandarus
had been in regular contact since his return to Belgium, and all his
messages had been perfectly encoded with their security checks correct.
Six of his pupils had also started using their one-time pads
with the checks that he'd given them. We'd received no traffic from
Pandarus for a fortnight.
On 30 May Hardy Amies telephoned to say that he'd learned 'from
a reliable source' that Pandarus had been caught. Hardy, who trusted
people completely on the rare occasions when he trusted them at all, said that he continued to believe that Pandarus would be unable to
remember the checks he'd passed on to other agents, though I still
hadn't told him how the system worked.
But I wasn't properly earthed myself, and the moment he rang off
I began wondering if my 'bright idea' had flaws in it which I hadn't
foreseen. If it did, the security of countless Belgian partisans would
be in jeopardy.
I also wondered what else could go wrong in the run-up to D-Day. There was no invasion quite as deadly as self-doubt.
516
SIXTY-NINE
For Your Ears Only
By 1 June (referred to as 'D-Day minus five' by the cognoscenti) Nick
was still endeavouring to weld his collection of freak talents into a
Morse-minded entity, and it wouldn't be his fault if we failed our
entrance exam to maturity.
As a result of the support he'd given to technicians he trusted, WT
operators were no longer forced to come on the air at fixed times
and on the same frequencies. They were now using variable signalplans,
which enabled them to pass their traffic at irregular intervals
and on different channels. Nor did they any longer have to carry
camouflaged WT sets weighing almost forty pounds from safe-house
to safe-house - often the last journeys they made. Instead they were
given portable wireless sets, each equipped with a power-pack which
made the operators independent of mains and ensured that their
consumption of electricity could no longer be detected. Other lifesavers
sponsored by him included S-phones and Eurekas, which
enabled agents to talk to aircraft, and squirt transmitters, which could
send 100 letters in a matter of seconds.
But he shared my anxiety about the number of agents who'd been
told in poem-codes which BBC messages they must listen out for,
and what they signified. He'd warned the country sections that the
meaning of the prearranged phrases could only safely be transmitted to agents who were using WOKs or LOPs but on the night of 1
June the BBC broadcast over 300 'stand by' messages alerting the
Resistance that D-Day was imminent. The significance of at least
thirty of them had been conveyed in poem-codes.
On 3 June Nick instructed me to report to him in advance of yet
517
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
another meeting with Gravy as he had something to tell me which
the OSS mustn't hear.
He disclosed that although Eisenhower continued to have confidence
in SOE, the Chiefs of Staff were worried about our role on
D-Day, and feared that our Dutch debacle would be repeated in
France. They didn't trust our communications either as they believed
that our technical improvements had come too late, and that some
of our traffic would blow the date of Overlord. They'd also concluded
(with a little help from C) that the French Resistance 'had been
penetrated to such a significant extent' that the most the partisans
could contribute to D-Day was 'a nuisance value'. Because of these
and numerous other reservations (especially about de Gaulle) they'd
decided that the Secret Armies 'and SOE's other odds and sods'
mustn't be alerted to the imminence of Overlord till the last possible
moment.
Nick was about to amplify these misgivings when he was informed
by his secretary that Commander Graveson had arrived, and he reluctantly
told her to show him in at once.
This reluctance was a new factor because by now Gravy had
become 'one of us', but we could no longer talk freely in front of
him as the OSS had begun a joint operation with C. We knew that
its code-name was Sussex, and that it was an Intelligence-gathering
operation taking place in France, but that was the extent of our
knowledge, and we hoped that the Germans were equally illinformed.
Gravy
had called in to report on his recent inspection of Milton
Hall, the Jedburgh training school which was staffed by British and
American instructors (by mutual consent, for once genuine, it was
under the overall command of the British). He dealt first with the
Americans' reaction to the Jedburgh code-book.
Careful to stress his admiration for the way in which it reduced
the effects of Morse mutilation, he said that many Americans had
complained that looking up the phrases they needed and then copying the code-groups on to one-time pads was 'one hell of a performance',
and they wanted to encode their messages straight on to onetime
pads without using the code-books. Did we agree?
I replied that it would be perfectly safe for them to do this, but if
^y"
518
FOR YOUR EARS ONLY
they had long messages to transmit the code-book would greatly reduce their length and allow them to get off the air quickly, a major
consideration at all times, especially on D-Day. We agreed that they
should be given the option.
He then said that ''all Jedburghs, not just the Americans' found
double-transposition 'heavy going' and that most of them questioned
if they'd ever need to use it.
I pointed out that if they didn't know how to, they'd be unable to
use WOKs, which would enable them to pass another 200 messages
safely. Nor could they use poems, which would be their last chance
of communicating if they lost their silks. Heavy going or not, there
could be no compromise on this.
He at once changed the subject, and shot a series of questions at
Nick which seemed so unrelated to Signals problems that I indulged
in an iodoform-brood.
He wanted to know why British instructors placed so much emphasis
on the cutting of telephone wires. Surely it was equally important
to destroy bridges and railway lines, attack ammunition dumps and
make roads impassable? So why was absolute priority given to telephone
wires?
I could tell from the silence which followed that he'd asked a key
question and Nick's answer was the biggest compliment I'd heard
him pay anyone. He told us that the explanation was known to very
few people but he was prepared to give it on the understanding that
it mustn't be discussed outside this room.
I stood up to leave, partly to save Nick from having to ask me
to but mainly because I still couldn't see the relevance of Gravy's
question.
Nick waved me back, and took a deep breath. He then told Gravy
that twelve months ago 'someone highly placed' (it turned out to be
Tiltman the Great) had asked Gubbins to continue to ensure that
agents gave absolute priority to cutting telephone lines because it
forced the Germans to communicate by radio, and gave Bletchley an
opportunity to break their codes. He then explained to the now silent
commander and the open-mouthed small boy seated beside him that
the Germans didn't realize the extent to which Bletchley had penetrated
their traffic - 'God forbid they ever do because they'd change
519
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
their codes at once, which would be a major setback for the entire
war effort.'
"Without going into details, he added that the contributions made
by Bletchley and Y (the interception service) towards shortening the
war would one day be recognized, but at this crucial stage they were
known only to Churchill and his trusted advisers. And so it must
remain.
The commander shook Nick's hand and promised that what he'd
just learned wouldn't be repeated.
The small boy tried to look as if he'd known it all the time.
520
SEVENTY
Neptune's Trident
Despite intense competition from air-raids, the ugliest sounds in June
were the voices of the BBC announcers.
They stopped reading 'Stand by' messages on the 4th, and began
broadcasting 'Action' messages on the 5th. The prearranged phrases
lasted for eight hours, and I learned that it was possible to grow
hoarse through listening. The significance of at least fifty iodoforms
had been conveyed in poem-codes.
The D-Day uprisings were timed to take place simultaneously right
across France to conceal where the Allies intended to land, and above
all to divert attention from Neptune. The purpose of this keyoperation
was to land sea and airborne forces near the mouth of
the Seine, and the Resistance was to act as Neptune's trident by
attacking enemy troops, disrupting communications and blocking
reinforcements.
Nick warned us that Neptune's traffic would be 'somewhere
between heavy and crippling', and squads of coders stood by to deal
with the holocaust of coding mistakes which the 'Action' calls seemed
certain to engender. But on D-Day only one indecipherable was
received from the whole of France, and that was the result of Morse
mutilation. 'Decipherability-Day' (as 6 June was henceforth known)
had other surprises.
The traffic was far lighter than expected, there were no queries
from the country sections, and my phone didn't ring until one o'clock.
The signalmaster at 53a wanted me to listen to a message from France
which had been transmitted en clair over the Butler circuit.
The message was addressed to Colonel Buckmaster, and was similar
to Giskes's on April Fool's day:
521
^ AMD CYA N IDE BETWEEN SlJ^---------------------------
WE than), .ftGE DELIVERIES OF ARMS AND
^U FOR THE ^A AMMUNITir^ ~ .VE BEEN KIND ENOUGH TO SEND
"us WHICH YOU I4 US. WE Ale,, ni^n tluu ^any TIPS YOU HAVE GIVEN US
Q APPRECIATE T^'
regardik,,, iKt-.^iAir, INTENTIONS WHICH WE HAVE
~ your PT ANS Al- CAREFULlv LAiNa y ^g CONCERNED ABOUT THE
notfd TN CASE
HEALTH o>, ,dTORS YOU HAVE SENT US YOU
' some OF THE V1 MAY REST . ,t.L BE TREATED WITH THE CONSIDERATio^1^13
THEY ^ "^ THEY DESERVE-
I telephonpri „ hoP^g Aat I'd be in time to cushion
the shock. d Maurice at once' p
I receiver i/led. 'They're trying to shake our
confidence,' ^ ne when he ^"rfto draft a reply.
Noble and t sa ' and rang ° 'J never completely shared our conviction
that ^P^^ that "^re blown, and he'd continued to
drop stores p s ut clrcults (q them, ostensibly to deceive the
Gestapo. Bu.,1510'1^' and mofi,., as well, and I wondered what his
true feelings ^e d dropped aged
I also wonri ' r to receive a similar communication:
^ered if I were about1
WE tha(^ a^ge QUANTITIES OF WOKS AND
you FOR TT-TF ^
LOPS yott rilCH WE HAVE HAD MUCH PLEA-
have SENT US ^ SURE IN g ^ ALSO THANK YOU FOR YOUR R.
TOMMEfi EAKING- WE ^^as GIVEN US HOURS OF AMUSEMENT.
r., AFFIC WHICH LEARNED FROM A RELIABLE
°WEVFR WF HASOURCE
^ ' a gEFUSES TO STOCK MEIN KAMPF,
AND Rp AT ^^OUR FATHE y ^HAT HIS SHOP WILL BE
"ret TO INFORM
TARGETi,,. lJN^UKl opportunity.
'" AT OUR EARLIES1
Expecting ^ on D-Day (not one of whom had
appeared) ^ influx of visitortt I'd made was with Valois. He'd
never seen n, only aPP01"^ .^vited him to call in for a teteatete,
confident ^ workshop and ;' ^ than mine.
But it v^ tete would be c ^twd to like and respect who stood
in the doo" l the valols rd ^as even more apparent than in the
days of Ou, ay- His hostllity, over de Gaulle's secret code, and I r mutual antagonist11
522
NEPTUNE'S TRIDENT
grabbed his hand as there seemed a distinct possibility that he was
about to return to Duke Street.
Refusing the refreshments I'd prepared in readiness for the invasion
which hadn't taken place, he sat glumly at my desk and looked sharply
away when he spotted a copy of the FFI code-book. But he couldn't
resist examining its next-door neighbour: a code-book on silk which
was being widely used in guerrilla warfare against the Japanese (the
Far Eastern conflict was of great concern to Duke Street). He looked
closely at the code-groups, which minimized the effects of Morse
mutilation, and gave a curt nod of approval.
I then showed him the only item which might break his silence:
the cigar I was keeping for Tommy (he was still in Fresnes prison).
Leaving his own cell for a moment, Valois told me that the Free
French had arranged for groups of cyclists to call out the latest BBC
bulletins as they rode past the prison courtyard, and that some of
them shouted out messages from Barbara. He then returned to his
solitary confinement.
Wondering if the Free French had heard bad news which I knew
nothing about, I finally asked what had happened to upset him.
He looked at me reproachfully as if convinced I knew the answer.
It was only when I told him that I regarded us as friends and would
repeat nothing he said to me that he began speaking in rapid French;
to my astonishment I understood every word of it.
The Free French were outraged at the way France's Allies ('particulierement
les Anglais') had treated de Gaulle. He hadn't been allowed
to return from Algiers until 3 June, and had been excluded from all
discussions about Overlord. He hadn't even been told the date of the
invasion until Churchill sent for him on the night of the 4th. But the
greatest of all insults was that his troops in the 3rd SAS regiment
had received their orders before he'd been allowed to know what
they were.
I nodded sympathetically (the best exercise I'd had in months), and
was about to ask why he thought I was one of the Anglais responsible for such disgraceful behaviour when he spat out the subject of communications.

The general was anxious to exchange messages with his followers in France and North Africa but had been forbidden to use his own
523
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
WE THANK YOU FOR THE LARGE DELIVERIES OF ARMS AND
AMMUNITIONS WHICH YOU HAVE BEEN KIND ENOUGH TO SEND
US. WE ALSO APPRECIATE THE MANY TIPS YOU HAVE GIVEN US
REGARDING YOUR PLANS AND INTENTIONS WHICH WE HAVE
CAREFULLY NOTED. IN CASE YOU ARE CONCERNED ABOUT THE
HEALTH OF SOME OF THE VISITORS YOU HAVE SENT US YOU
MAY REST ASSURED THEY WILL BE TREATED WITH THE CONSIDERATION
THEY DESERVE.
I telephoned Maurice at once, hoping that I'd be in time to cushion
the shock.
I received one when he chuckled. 'They're trying to shake our
confidence,' he said, and rang off to draft a reply.
Noble and I suspected that he'd never completely shared our conviction
that his Butler circuits were blown, and he'd continued to
drop stores, explosives and money to them, ostensibly to deceive the
Gestapo. But he'd dropped agents as well, and I wondered what his
true feelings were.
I also wondered if I were about to receive a similar communication:
WE THANK YOU FOR THE LARGE QUANTITIES OF WOKS AND
LOPS YOU HAVE SENT US WHICH WE HAVE HAD MUCH PLEASURE
IN BREAKING. WE MUST ALSO THANK YOU FOR YOUR R.
TOMMEE TRAFFIC WHICH HAS GIVEN US HOURS OF AMUSEMENT.
HOWEVER, WE HAVE LEARNED FROM A RELIABLE
SOURCE THAT YOUR FATHER REFUSES TO STOCK MEIN KAMPF,
AND REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT HIS SHOP WILL BE
TARGETED AT OUR EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY.
Expecting an influx of visitors on D-Day (not one of whom had
appeared), the only appointment I'd made was with Valois. He'd
never seen my workshop and I'd invited him to call in for a teteatete,
confident his tete would be clearer than mine.
But it wasn't the Valois I'd learned to like and respect who stood
in the doorway. His hostility was even more apparent than in the
days of our mutual antagonism over de Gaulle's secret code, and I
522
NEPTUNE'S TRIDENT
grabbed his hand as there seemed a distinct possibility that he was
about to return to Duke Street.
Refusing the refreshments I'd prepared in readiness for the invasion
which hadn't taken place, he sat glumly at my desk and looked sharply
away when he spotted a copy of the FFI code-book. But he couldn't
resist examining its next-door neighbour: a code-book on silk which
was being widely used in guerrilla warfare against the Japanese (the
Far Eastern conflict was of great concern to Duke Street). He looked
closely at the code-groups, which minimized the effects of Morse
mutilation, and gave a curt nod of approval.
I then showed him the only item which might break his silence:
the cigar I was keeping for Tommy (he was still in Fresnes prison).
Leaving his own cell for a moment, Valois told me that the Free
French had arranged for groups of cyclists to call out the latest BBC
bulletins as they rode past the prison courtyard, and that some of
them shouted out messages from Barbara. He then returned to his
solitary confinement.
Wondering if the Free French had heard bad news which I knew
nothing about, I finally asked what had happened to upset him.
He looked at me reproachfully as if convinced I knew the answer.
It was only when I told him that I regarded us as friends and would
repeat nothing he said to me that he began speaking in rapid French;
to my astonishment I understood every word of it.
The Free French were outraged at the way France's Allies ('particulierement
les Anglais') had treated de Gaulle. He hadn't been allowed
to return from Algiers until 3 June, and had been excluded from all
discussions about Overlord. He hadn't even been told the date of the
invasion until Churchill sent for him on the night of the 4th. But the
greatest of all insults was that his troops in the 3rd SAS regiment
had received their orders before he'd been allowed to know what
they were.
I nodded sympathetically (the best exercise I'd had in months), and
was about to ask why he thought I was one of the Anglais responsible
for such disgraceful behaviour when he spat out the subject of communications.

The general was anxious to exchange messages with his followers
in France and North Africa but had been forbidden to use his own
523
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
codes. He even had to communicate with his committees in codes
which the British had provided. Valois hastened to add that our
'systemes de codage' were safe and excellent, but the British could
read them and I must understand that this was no longer acceptable
as the committees had proclaimed themselves the provisional government
of France.
I explained that the provisional governor of SOE's code room
wasn't consulted on such matters, and that what he'd said was complete
news to me. I added that as far as I knew SHAEF (the Supreme
HQ Allied Expeditionary Force) had decided that only the British,
Americans and Russians could use their own codes while the invasion
was in progress, and that General de Gaulle hadn't been singled out
for special treatment. I then assured him that not even Nick could
reverse SHAEF's decision, much as he'd want to.
The little wizard nodded his head. He then looked at me sadly
and said that the war leaders, 'especially Mr Churchill', had treated
General de Gaulle as if he were .. . He struggled for the word.
I didn't know the French for 'outsider' and nearly said 'Juif, but
that might have been too great an insult.
'II est tout seui' ('He is quite alone'), he said finally.
He then began to do justice to a bottle of Father's wine and a plate
of mother's finest.
At this point Jerry Parker (head of Signal-planning) waddled in,
and was astonished to see his Free French opposite number seated
beside me toasting the success of the invasion. They immediately
began a discussion in English, French and Signalese, and left shortly
afterwards for Gerry's office.
General de Marks was left tout seui with his thoughts.
Shortly before midnight the Signals Office supervisor read me Buckmaster's
reply to the Germans' message, which he'd instructed the
station to transmit en clair:
SORRY TO SEE YOUR PATIENCE IS EXHAUSTED AND YOUR
NERVES NOT AS GOOD AS OURS BUT IF IT IS ANY CONSOLATION
YOU WILL BE PUT OUT OF YOUR MISERY IN THE NEAR FUTURE.
PLEASE GIVE US DROPPING GROUNDS NEAR BERLIN FOR
524
RECEPTION ORGANIZER AND W.T. OPERATOR BUT BE CAREFUL
NOT TO UPSET OUR RUSSIAN FRIENDS WHO TAKE OFFENCE
MORE QUICKLY THAN WE DO. WE SHALL DELIVER FURTHER
COMMUNICATIONS PERSONALLY.
I thought about all the agents who were in no position to share
the joke. One in particular.
I then thought about Tommy's idol, Winston Churchill, who'd
emerged from his wilderness to lead us out of ours. Was the person
yet born who could replace him if we needed his like again?
For the first time on D-Day I found my pen in my hand:
Are you tomorrow's Winnie
Though still in your pinny?
Tomorrow's war-leader
Though still a breast-feeder?
Tomorrow's saviour
Learning potty behaviour?
Little one
Little one
All snot-and-spittle one
Is our D-Day
Your three times a pee day?
And when you're a giant
On whom the free world is reliant
As well as a gallon of whisky man
Whom lesser mortals
Call a House of Commons risky man
Will you please spare a nod
For every poor sod
Who today met his God
And make sure that Overlord
Really is over. Lord.
A few minutes later it was D-Day plus one.
525
SEVENTY-ONE
Staying Power
'If Christ were alive today they wouldn't crucify him.
They'd make him a member of the Signals directorate,'

(Nick to author, D-Day plus four)
Why the 'if?
I hadn't the slightest doubt that He was alive as our codes and
coders were withstanding the strain of the invasion traffic, and there
was no sign that the enemy had penetrated the BBC's iodoforms.
But there was every sign that Nick, whose religion was signals,
was carrying the heaviest Morse-cross of his long career. He was
answerable to the High Command for the security of SOE's traffic,
and as if that weren't burden enough the War Office had asked him
to supply the codes for all Special Forces. His confidence that we'd
delivered the 'right goods' was greater than mine as we'd had little
experience of paramilitary traffic, and the SAS were the main recipients
of our first venture into it. We would soon know if they regretted
zooming along Baker Street for 'a spot of advice'.
One op. which the SAS mounted on D-Day required such audacity
- even by their standards - that Gubbins had found time to monitor
its progress.
Two three-man teams from the 1st SAS regiment were dropped
near the Cherbourg peninsula to convince the Germans that the Normandy
landings were only a diversion, and that the main assault was taking place in the Pas-deCalais.
They were cogs in Fortitude, a deception scheme to persuade the
526
enemy to send reinforcements to the wrong beach-heads. But even six
members of the SAS couldn't be mistaken for an army of invaders, and hundreds of dummies had been dropped with them to give the impression
of a major landing. To heighten the illusion, each team had been
issued with gramophones, Very pistols and an assortment of flares. The
gramophones played records of intensive small-arms fire with soldiers'
voices in the background, and the Very pistols and flares turned the
skies into an illuminated manuscript with an unmistakable text.
The Germans immediately rushed troops to the area to repel the
invaders, and partisans harassed them en route to add verisimilitude
to their journey. One SAS operator sent a message to base, 'The
buggers have fallen for it,' but as no such phrase was included in his
code-book's vocabulary he'd had to spell it out on his one-time pad.
Gubbins wanted the Resistance to take a far greater part in Fortitude
but the Deception Committee didn't trust SOE's competence.
Nor did they have much faith in the SAS's, and three of their deception
drops were cancelled without notice, a rejection which they took
in their inexhaustible stride.
The SAS rarely sought help from other organizations; they preferred
to be left alone 'to do things their way' (an attitude which only the
enemy had cause to regret), but they'd allowed me to brief a group of
their instructors and to meet some of their troops. They regarded the
invasion as a night out on the town, especially if it were in enemy hands.
Two thousand of them were now standing by to cause their special
brand of havoc, and three advance parties had been dropped behind
enemy lines to demolish fortifications and link up with the Resistance.
The Jedburghs were also in action, but wouldn't be for long if their
luck didn't change. The three-man teams had made a disastrous start.
Quinine and Ammonia (some humorist in authority had decided
to code-name Jedburghs after patent medicines) were the first teams
to be launched from Algiers. They set off for France on 5 June, but
missed D-Day altogether as their pilots couldn't find the dropping
grounds and had to return to base. The ops. were remounted; Quinine
and Veganin were landed on the 9th and Ammonia on the 10th. But
one member of the Veganin team was killed whilst jumping as he
hadn't hooked up the static line of his parachute, which so upset his
team-leader that he had to be withdrawn from the field. Half the
527
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Quinine and Ammonia teams were also out of action due to appalling
stomach cramps, diarrhoea and raging fever, maladies which were
reported to London in the Lord's Prayer as the WT operator had
mislaid his silk codes. (He'd used 'Hallowed be Thy name' as his
key-phrase but spelt 'hallowed' with three Ts, and it took 4,000
attempts to decipher his message.)
By 11 June fever of another kind (no less insidious because it was
psychological) had infected the Jedburghs at Milton Hall who'd been
waiting for weeks (and in some instances, months) to go into action.
They'd been promised a key role on D-Day, and were angry at their
exclusion. They were even angrier that they still hadn't been given a
firm departure date, and according to their coding instructress had
lost confidence in their briefing officers, felt neglected and deceived,
and were in a state of near mutiny.
Choosing her words carefully, which was rare amongst FANY
sergeants, she advised me to stay away from Milton Hall.
I'd arranged with Colonel Musgrove (the station's CO) to go there
on the 14th but he phoned me on the llth and urged me not to come
as the last two lecturers had been given a 'very rough reception' and
had had to leave the platform in a hurry. He added that the Jedburghs
'knew their bloody codes backwards' as he'd made them practise
them for hours 'to help pass the time', and I'd no need to brief them:
'Marks, I must say this to you frankly. The last thing they want is
another lecture, least of all on codes, and if you insist on coming
down here I shan't be answerable for the consequences.'
He clearly feared that a know-it-all civilian of unmistakably Semitic
origin would start a riot of unquantifiable proportions.
Nick and Heffer also urged me to stay away as the timing was
wrong. But it wasn't for me.
I hadn't faced a lynch-mob since admitting to the Free French that
I'd broken de Gaulle's secret code, and badly needed the illusion of
courage. I also wanted to inspect Milton Hall's library, most of which
had come from 84.
I decided to arrive on the 14th wearing a bullet-proof vest, and
returned to the lesser heroics of the invasion.
The traffic made clear that the extent of SOE's contribution to
Overlord had come to the attention of the British as well as the
528
Germans. Although the High Command still had reservations about
the Resistance Movement's staying-power and SOE's competence,
SHAEF headquarters in France sent a telegram to Gubbins confirming
that the landings in Normandy and Brittany owed much of
their success to the widespread uprisings, and even more to the
number of troop-carrying trains derailed and sabotaged by the
Pimento organization.
This remarkable group consisted entirely of railway workers, and
was controlled by an express-train of an agent named Tony Brooks
(code name Alphonse), who'd been dropped into France in June '42
when he was a locomotive of twenty - the youngest agent Buckmaster
had yet dispatched to the field.
Knowing little about trains but a great deal about passengers, he
spent the next two years preparing Pimento for D-Day, and his efforts
achieved the historic result of surpassing Buckmaster's expectations.
Since receiving their first 'Action' messages, Pimento had derailed over
1,000 trains, and the crack Das Reich division, which had been ordered
to rush to Normandy to repel the invasion, was forced to travel by road,
giving the Allies the time they needed to consolidate their beachheads.
Pimento had also paralysed scores of railway yards, brought all the
traffic in the Rhone valley to a standstill, and ensured that every train
leaving Marseilles for Lyons was derailed at least once in the course
of its journey. Of the dozens of messages reporting Pimento's progress,
only three had themselves been derailed, but the mishaps had
been caused by Morse mutilation and not by mistakes in coding.
Pimentos were Mother's favourite vegetable.
On 11 June her favourite only child began preparing his address
to the Milton Hall mutineers so that it would sound spontaneous in three days' time but I was unable to get beyond my opening sentence
('Listen, you bastards, if you can remember how to') as I couldn't
stop brooding about the Polish government-in-exile.
An important Polish operation, code-named Bardsea, which was supposed
to have taken place on D-Day, had been abandoned because
of political in-fighting amongst the Polish authorities, an art at which
they had no equal.
SOE's relationship with the Polish government-in-exile was as hard
529
to understand as a mental one-time pad. Its complexity not only caused
problems for everyone but the enemy, it made reality fight for its life.
SOE's Polish directorate (known as MP) was run by Colonel
Perkins, and was responsible for recruiting Polish expatriates, turning
them into agents, and dropping them into France and Poland to work
for SOE. But the Polish government-in-exile also recruited expatriates,
though in far larger numbers, and dispatched them to the same
territories, usually on missions of which we knew nothing.
Foreseeing most of this and realizing that some semblance of coordination
would be helpful, Gubbins had a conference in 1940 with
General Sikorski (the Polish prime minister whom SOE had smuggled
into England), and agreed to create a special department in the Polish
directorate known as EU/P.
As I understood it, EU/P's function was to liaise with the Polish
authorities to prepare Bardsea for D-Day, to ensure that their operations
into France weren't duplicated, and to start a free exchange
of information. The ministries agreed to the arrangement, and
honoured it whenever it suited them. The head of EU/P was Major
Hazell, who'd been doing the job since 1941 but had little to show
for it except premature old age and the prospect of monitoring Bardsea
after spending three years discussing it. His unofficial remit was
to find out as much as he could about the government-in-exile's
independent operations. But the Polish authorities found a use for
Hazell which SOE hadn't foreseen.
By D-Day the Polish Ministry of the Interior and their Ministry of
National Defence were no longer on speaking terms, and insisted on
using Hazell's EU/P section as their sole means of communication,
which may not have helped the war effort but guaranteed him full
employment.
Bardsea's traffic did as much for me. The Polish agents were to use
LOPs and WOKs for their messages, which they'd been instructed
to keep to a minimum (a near guarantee that they wouldn't). But it
wasn't the agents' traffic which was taking up so much brooding-time.
It was the government-in-exile's.
Despite a recent Foreign Office ruling that until further notice all
governments-in-exile must pass the whole of their traffic (including
diplomatic) in British, American or Russian ciphers, the Polish
530
government-in-exile was still allowed to use its own codes. I'd no
idea what they were, and Nick warned me that under no circumstances
must I attempt to find out as they were none of SOE's
business: 'The decision's been taken at the highest level. Don't even
think of questioning it.'
I wasn't able to stop. Nick may have forgotten (his memory had
become an Overlord casualty) that on the eve of TiltmantheGreat's
visit to Baker Street he'd told me that both Bletchley and the Germans
had been reading Russian codes for years, and that it was only when
the Germans declared war on the Soviet Union that the Foreign Office
warned the Russians to change them immediately. I found this aspect
of the code war completely indecipherable as it must have cost tens
of thousands of Russian lives.
It seemed certain that the Polish authorities in London would want
to report Bardsea's progress to their ministries abroad, which would
cause unquantifiable damage if the codes weren't high-grade.
Had the Foreign Office vetted them? It was such an obvious precaution
that it couldn't be taken for granted. And why had the Poles
been made an exception to the rule? Above all, had the Foreign Office
been properly briefed about Bardsea?
Its importance had begun filtering through to the Signals directorate.

It was to be a joint operation: the Poles were to supply the agents;
SOE was to drop them. Its purpose was to land 100 highly trained
agents near Lille, where they'd link up with the half million Polish
expatriates who lived and worked in the area. Amongst their other
Resistance activities, these expatriates had formed a Secret Army
called Monica.
SOE had been told little about Monica apart from its code-name,
but in February Chalmers-Wright (a former member of the Political
Warfare Executive) had crossed the Pyrenees on a tour of inspection,
and strolled back two months later by the same route to report
to Perkins and Hazell that, if Monica could be supplied with arms
and explosives and given the proper targets, it could mount and
maintain a major uprising and would have an enormous D-Day
potential.
Without disclosing what he knew, Hazell tried to persuade the
531
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
Poles to clarify Monica's role on D-Day while there was still time to
exploit its potential, but they were reluctant to discuss Monica's
activities, and all EU/P section had so far discovered was that Bardsea
agents were to be dropped to Monica's reception committees.
End of brood, and the start of my efforts to find out what I could
about the government-in-exile's codes.
I manufactured an excuse to visit Hazell, and casually mentioned
that it would be a pity if the Germans learned about Monica through
the government-in-exile's traffic, and he equally casually mentioned
to their chief signals officer that SOE had a good line in codes. The
signals officer replied that he was familiar with our systems and
thought they were excellent, but perhaps we'd come up with some
new ones he hadn't been shown, in which case he'd be glad if Hazell
could produce a few specimens.
I invited him to my office, and gave him freedom of the walls after
removing the Free French and SAS code-books (I left the Jedburgh
code-books intact as the Poles were aware of their activities).
It may have been Mother's sandwiches, Muriel's red hair, or the
effect of the lighting, but just when I was wondering how to introduce
the subject of the code which mattered most to me he asked if we
could possibly supply him with 200 LOPs immediately as he needed
them 'for a most important purpose'.
Although we couldn't afford to part with them, I promised that
they'd be delivered to his office within the next two hours, hoping
that the government-in-exile would start using them at once.
He then asked if I'd like to accompany him to meet the 100 Bardsea
agents in training. I was due to visit them anyway, but accepted his
invitation. Two days later, he turned up at the wheel of a jeep, and
I soon learned how Chalmers-Wright felt crossing the Pyrenees.
A few mountain peaks later he thanked me for the LOPs, then
immediately began discussing the route, so I still don't know what
their 'urgent purpose' was. Our dropping zone was a holding school
near Horsham, where the Bardsea agents had been incarcerated for
months, waiting for D-Day.
Reluctant to surrender the driving seat to me, the signals officer
insisted on acting as interpreter.
They understood their LOPs perfectly but had to struggle a bit
532
with their WOKs, and I sensed from the extra weight in their eyes
that the Bardseas had been taught to use other codes about which
we knew nothing. Although some of them had almost certainly taken
part in the national sport of confining Polish Jews to ghettos, they
were a magnificent bunch, highly trained, counting the seconds to
go, and excellent pupils. Mass briefings like this were usually two-way
traffic pogroms, but the Bardseas has a special quality, and several
hours later I felt almost ready to drop with them to Monica.
On D-Day the entire Bardsea operation was cancelled due to
another bout of in-fighting. None of us doubted the Poles' courage,
or their determination to attack the common enemy, or how much
the Allies owed to General Sikorski's leadership (he'd died in '43).
But what a fuck-up. What a waste of 100 first-class agents, of
Monica's potential, of LOPs we couldn't spare.
Hazell asked if they could be returned to us but the signals officer
replied that the Poles 'would find very good use for them'.
Knowing their macabre sense of humour, I didn't ask what it was.
On the morning of the 12th I learned that Violette Szabo had been
captured by the Germans.
She'd been dropped back into France on the 7th with Staunton to
re-establish his Salesman circuit, but three days later she and one of
his assistants (Anastasie) were trying to reach Limoges by car when
they were spotted by an advance party of the Das Reich division. She
held up the Germans with her sten-gun for as long as she could to
give Anastasie the chance to escape and complete his mission but was
caught when her ammunition ran out.
I hadn't seen her since she'd returned by Lysander in April as her
coding instructress had told me that all Violette needed was a new
WOK. She hadn't yet used her poem, and was anxious not to change
it.
Since I couldn't justify a visit, I'd sent her a note saying that I
hadn't lost a single game of chess with the set that she'd given me,
which was true as I hadn't yet used it.
She sent a note back promising if she had to use her poem she
wouldn't make a single spelling mistake.
II left for Milton Hall with her chess-set in my briefcase.
•
533
SEVENTY-TWO
'They Also Serve .. /
Built in the seventeenth century, Milton Hall was a few miles from
Peterborough but managed to live it down, and everything about it
was sepulchral except for its present inhabitants, who were waiting
for me in the lecture room, all of them wearing British, American or
French uniforms.
I'd asked Colonel Musgrove not to introduce me and strode to the
platform unannounced. Someone laughed, and someone else blew a
raspberry (or worse) as I turned to face them, and I knew that if I
didn't establish a beach-head with my first sentence, there wouldn't
be a second.
I remembered the approach I'd selected on the night of the Bardsea
brood: 'Listen, you bastards, if you can remember how to ...'
Beach-head established.
'. . . while we're scoring points off each other, an agent in France
has only one hope of not being caught, and that's to be picked up
by Lysander in the next few hours ... would it bore you to know
what's stopping us?'
This is the most important talk I've ever given.
'. . . he's lost his silks, and had to use his poem to give us his
pick-up points, but the silly sod's made a mistake in his coding and the
bloody thing's indecipherable, indechiffrable, impossible to read ...'
Is it the shock of Violette's capture that's made me realize what I
must say?
'. . . two hundred girls are working the clock round to break it,
and I should be up there trying to help them instead of pissing around
with Jedburghs who've forgotten how to learn . . .'
Concentrate on the girls.
534
'. .. they've already made ten thousand attempts to crack it, and
they're on their second ten now, and you might like to know that when you're in France, as you bloody soon will be, we'll do the same
for you because we happen to be cunts enough to believe that you're
worth it ...'
Shoulders back, change tone, the next bit's critical.
'. . . you've been told that because you'll be wearing uniform, you'll
be treated as prisoners of war if you're caught. I don't think you
should bank on it . . .'
Colonel Musgrove stiffened at this because I'd no right to say it.
But I'd even less right not to. The first thing they'd be tortured for
would be their codes and security checks.
'... if you're caught, you could lie to them about your onetime
pads and WOKs, provided you've had the sense to destroy the used
portions, but poems are a different matter.'
Stop dreading the next stage or the bastards will pick it up.
'. . . I'm going to risk turning my back on you because there's
something I want you to have a good look at, and I don't mean my
arse.'
I took the cover off the blackboard, on which the coding instructress
had written two messages of equal length, one on top of the
other. 'These are two messages in the same poem-code. I want you
to see how the Boche would break them, and they're a bloody sight
better at it than I am . ..'
I'd been dreading this moment because I hadn't shown anyone
what I was about to show them. Until now I'd made a parlour-game
of poem-cracking, which most audiences enjoyed as much as I did.
But these audiences had never included agents, who'd had to make
do with warnings as I was afraid that the extra anxiety would make
them send even more indecipherables.
Christ, how wrong I was, and how late to find it out.
More and more agents were using their poems because their silks
weren't to hand, or because it was more convenient. But we didn't
know how the Jedburghs would behave, though the signs were ominous.
Their traffic would be equally new to the Germans, who would
take great interest in it.
But it would be no good warning this bunch to keep their poems
535
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
for emergencies; they'd go out of their way to create them. Nor would
it be enough to play the parlour-game with them. I had to make
brave men frightened to use their poems and risk the indecipherables
they'd send us. And the only way to frighten them would be to make
them watch the mathematics involved, and show them the technical
tricks of the trade, even though they were unlikely to understand
them.
Herr von Marks began breaking the two messages without any
concessions to the Jedburghs, hoping they'd let him finish. But in the
middle of playing a German cryptographer I had a lapse of concentration,
and found myself thinking about 'The Life That I Have', and
for the first time wished I hadn't written it.
But that wasn't my only lapse. The room was so full of death I
began thinking about a conversation I'd heard in the Signals Office
concerning a young man who was about to be hanged for murder,
and the girls had asked what I thought about capital punishment.
I hadn't answered them then but a poem spurted out now:
It's agreed
That a good preventative
Must be neither weak nor tentative
And that the vicious and aberrant
Are in need of a deterrent
But while millions are going under
By design or blunder
Must we claim one more
Just to settle the score?
Shall we really feel safer
When he snaps like a wafer?
Will there never be enough breath about
While there's breath about?*
Glancing at my mental watch, I found I'd overrun by six minutes.
I spared them the interval counts (they'd never know how lucky they
* Photographed on to soluble paper, and issued to one of those present as a reserve
poem.
536
'THEY ALSO SERVE
were) and five minutes later the code-groups surrendered their texts.
I turned round to see the effect. They were staring at the blackboard
as if they'd just discovered holes in their bullet-proof vests.
This is the moment for the parlour-game.
I showed them how the Boche reconstructed poems from transposition-keys,
and invited them to have a go at the key I'd just broken.
They were the noisiest cryptographers I'd met, competing with each
other to roar out their suggestions, some of them right.
Keep quiet and let 'em go solo.
They continued Jedburghizing the key for another ten minutes,
which was as much as it could take.
I hoped I'd chosen an appropriate quotation: 'They also serve who
only stand and wait.' The cheer that went up could have been heard
by its author after whom Milton Hall was named (it was the last line
of Milton's sonnet on his blindness).
I'll know in the next ten seconds if I've really seen the light.
'Any questions?'
A hand shot up but I couldn't see who owned it.
'Yes, hand?'
'This may be a damn stupid suggestion . . .'
Christ, a shy Jedburgh.
'Mr Marks .. . can we do anything to help you break that agent's
message?'
An even louder cheer went up, reducing the others to a whisper.
That's the most important question I've ever been asked.
I mumbled my thanks, and undertook to let them know at once if the girls needed help with the keys. 'Any more questions?'
An authoritative voice called out. 'Get back to that indecipherable. You've told us all we need to know.'
I left for London without inspecting the library.
I returned to a summons from Nick, who told me at once that he'd
had a call from Colonel Musgrove; he was 'far from displeased by the results of my visit' but had said something which puzzled him.
['.. the Jedburghs are pestering him to know if the indecipherable's jjbeen broken, and he's interested too. Which message are they talking
Mabout?'
537
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'It came in from Emile last week. We broke it on Friday, and he
was picked up on Saturday. I pretended we were still working on it
because they don't like ancient history.'
He seemed about to comment but changed his mind and announced
that I was to keep the whole of tomorrow morning free for a 'very
important visitor'.
Still thinking about the Jedburghs, I learned that his name was
Commander Denniston, and that he'd been in charge of Bletchley
until two years ago.
I woke up sharply. 'Then he knows Tiltman?'
'Knows him? - He was John's boss.'
'I never knew he had one. What's Denniston doing now?'
'That's not your concern. He'll be here at ten o'clock tomorrow,
and you're to answer his questions fully.'
'What's he after?'
'He'll tell you himself.' He looked at me critically. 'The commander
has no time to waste, so you'd better be on top form for him. Go
home early. That's an order.'
He dismissed me before I could question him further.
I sent a message to the Jedburghs: 'Message out, rescue op.
mounted, wish you all merde alors.'
I had a feeling that at ten o'clock tomorrow I'd be needing it myself.
538
SEVENTY-THREE
Self-Defence
'We all need a centre
A core we can rely on
Our private Mount Zion
Which all can see
But none can spy on.'
(Written on the eve of Commander Denniston's visit)
The most unnerving part of Denniston-Day was its tranquil start only
eight indecipherables were waiting to be broken, only three
agents had lost their silks, and only two lots of codes had been sent
to the wrong stations. Better still, there were only three messages
from Cairo demanding more WOKs and LOPs, only one request
from Melbourne for more briefing officers, and only two agents had
used the same WOK-keys twice.
By the time I'd persuaded the latter's country sections to remind
them of their instructions it was ten o'clock.
Commander Denniston had an open manner, though every hair of
his head seemed shampooed with secrets, and I was relieved to find
that I could look a Bletchley wizard in the eye with some sense of
parity as he was no taller than I was.
Declining my offer of refreshments - an unpromising start - he ifsaid that he'd heard a great deal from Nick and others about the |Codes we were using, and wanted to see them for himself.
Longing to ask who the 'others' were, I pointed to the codes on lie wall, which he'd already taken in at a glance. 'There they all are,
r. Please help yourself.'
539
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
He nodded his acceptance, and I christened his walk the Bletchley
two-step.
He had a unique way of examining the silks. He seemed to inhale
them like Father testing a Havana for counterfeit leaf, asking me
pertinent questions as he passed from one to the other and nodding
at my answers (he turned out to be an expert in nod-language). He
seemed particularly interested in the code-books (especially the one
I'd delivered to the FFI) and asked if much use had been made of
them.
I replied that most agents preferred to encode their messages
directly on to one-time pads as it took less time.
'That's disappointing - especially as the code-groups reduce Morse
mutilation.'
I hadn't pointed this out.
As he put the code-books aside, I was suddenly convinced that I'd
done something wrong, and that it wasn't only codes he was here to
examine.
WOKs came next. 'Isn't this the system you showed John Tiltman
because you needed his blessing before you could use it?'
'Yes, sir. He's their godfather.'
'You couldn't have a better.'
I realized that he knew about Tiltman's visit, and wondered what
other homework he'd done.
I wish to Christ I knew what the little sod's after.
He questioned me closely about WOK-production, and wanted to
know why we preferred keys made by hand to the machine-made
keys supplied by Bletchley.
I explained that Bletchley hadn't produced them in sufficient quantities,
and that the ones which they'd sent us didn't seem to me as
random as the keys the girls produced by shuffling counters.
He looked at me doubtfully, so I gave him six sheets of keys produced
by the girls, and six by Bletchley. He correctly identified Bletchley's,
agreed there was a pattern to them, and asked if I'd drawn their
attention to it. When I admitted that I hadn't because we were so
grateful to Bletchley he suggested that I did so at once as it might be
helpful to them.
Surely these are minor matters for a man with no time to waste?
540
SELF-DEFENCE
His next comment made me wonder even more what his new job
was, and where the hell this was leading.
He said that he'd heard from Nick that I'd devised a deception
scheme called Gift-horse. '. . . I'd like you to explain its function, and
then show me some examples.'
I was ready to discuss anything, but Gift-horse was the one subject
I wasn't prepared for as Nick rarely enquired about it and I didn't
believe that he'd absorbed its technicalities.
'The function of Gift-horse is to make WOK-messages look as if
they've been passed in poem-codes to waste the enemy's time, and
make our traffic more trouble than it's worth.'
'Method?'
'Without agents knowing it, we repeat the indicator-groups on their
WOKs to make it look as if they've used the same keys twice, though
they're different every time.'
'Examples?'
I removed twelve Gift-horsed WOKs from the safe and spread
them in front of him in silence.
He examined each one carefully, and I could tell from his nodlanguage
that he'd spotted the repeated groups at a glance. I then
made the mistake of saying that we also Gift-horsed our dummy
traffic.
'What dummy traffic?'
I explained that we transmitted dummy messages round the clock
to hide the volume of our real traffic, and without being asked showed
him six examples.
Nod nod frown frown nod nod. 'I've two questions about Gifthorse.'
He's
letting me off lightly.
'You display Top Secret material on the walls of your office, so
why do you keep Gift-horsed WOKs in a safe?'
'To stop me from gloating over them.'
'You've good reason to.'
Then why does his voice have an edge to it?
'My second question's this. Have you discussed Gift-horse with
John Tiltman or anyone else at Bletchley Park?'
He could tell at a glance that I hadn't.
541
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'Did you think it wouldn't interest them - or that it was none of
their business?'
He didn't wait for an answer, which was just as well as I'd need
a year to find one.
'I'll come back to that later.'
If you must.
'I'm going to ask you a question about letter one-time pads, and I
want you to consider your answer carefully.'
Safe ground at last.
'Do you believe they're breakable on a depth of two?'
I dropped my unlit cigar. I couldn't believe that an expert cryptographer
was asking me a question which a FANY coder could have
answered without the slightest difficulty.
'Take your time.'
'I'm certain they can be. I've done it myself with the help of the
FANYs.'
He immediately asked for details, and I became more convinced
than ever that I was on some kind of trial.
Still wondering what the hell I'd done wrong apart from being
born, I said that despite our warnings that used code-groups must be
destroyed at once, agents often used the same ones twice; in order to
see how much damage a 'depth of two' caused I'd asked a supervisor
to encipher two messages on the same code-groups without telling
anyone the texts (which were scabrous), and after feeling our way
for twenty-four hours the girls and I had cracked them.
'How?'
What's he expecting - a cryptographic breakthrough?
'Nothing new, sir. I used the system I'd been taught at Bedford but
adapted it a bit.' I showed him the adaptation which I'd passed on
to the girls, and wondered why he spent so long studying it.
'Has anyone else seen this, apart from you and the coders?'
'No, sir.'
Good God, he can sigh.
'... perhaps there's something else I should mention, sir.'
'I've little doubt of it.'
I added that although one-time pads were simple enough to be
agent-proof, they'd found so many ways to send indecipherables in
542
SELF-DEFENCE
them that I'd given the girls nine guidelines on the quickest way to
break them.
He studied them in silence, then asked if I'd sent a copy to Tiltman.
He didn't wait for my answer. 'Why not?'
'They're so elementary by Bletchley's standards.'
'I see. I suggest you send them copies of the guidelines and the
"adaptation", if possible today. I'd also like copies myself.'
I made a note to dispatch them because I knew I'd want to forget
it.
'. . . it's Denniston with two 'n's . . . Nick will know where to send
them.'
I looked up to find him studying me intently.
I've been sucked into the inner space of an uncluttered mind.
'I doubt if you confine your deception schemes to WOKs and
dummy traffic . .. Do you ever Gift-horse one-time pads?'
Is the bastard telepathic?
'I'm working on a way to do it, but it's still only an itch. I'll be
scratching it tonight.'
He asked me to tell him the principle (a word seldom used in SOE).
'It's to make one-time messages look as if they've been enciphered
on the same code-groups ... it could waste a lot of the Boche's time
if they fall for it.'
'Keep scratching . . . Which brings me to my next point. I understand
you've devised a mental one-time pad.'
Is there anything Nick hasn't told him?
'How's the system work?'
It usually took me an hour to explain the complexities of a MOP,
but he nod-nodded his way through them in under five minutes, and
had only one question. 'Have you shown this code to Bletchley?'
To which I had only one answer - 'No. I thought it was secure
enough not to need vetting.'
'Of course it bloody well is, but that's not the point . . .'
Controlling his anger (but only just) Commander Two Us abruptly
changed the subject. 'A year or so ago you showed Tiltman some
charts you'd devised for breaking indecipherables '
Forestalling him, I said that I'd sent the charts to Bletchley.
'But surely you've amended them since then?'
543
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'Well .. . here and there.'
'What's your current breaking-rate?'
'Ninety per cent in under six hours.'
'Send the amendments to Bletchley.'
He waited impatiently while I made a note, then jerked his finger
at the FFI code-book. 'How long after you'd broken the secret French
code in front of them did you deliver that code-book to Algiers?'
I was no longer surprised by anything he knew or asked. 'Five or
six weeks.'
His next comment was more to himself than to me: 'That codebook's
clearly intended for de Gaulle's provisional government.'
Is that why he studied the vocabulary so carefully?
'Do you supply code-books to any governments-in-exile?'
'We supply them to their agents, but I doubt if the vocabularies
would be much use to their governments . . .'
Wondering if this were a clue to his job, and wishing he'd go back
to it, I suddenly remembered the Bardsea episode. 'We had to send
two hundred one-time pads to the Poles for an unspecified purpose.'
'Ah.'
It was then that I saw a new Commander Two Us. Glancing at
his watch as if it had been Gift-horsed, he said with a hint of shyness
that he'd be gl^d of some coffee if the offer were still open.
'Absolutely.'
I pressed the buzzer twice, and a few moments later the sight of
Muriel carrying in her tray had its customary effect, even on him.
He accepted the coffee gratefully but declined the sandwiches as he'd
arranged to have lunch with Nick. But despite his friendliness, something
warned me that he was about to make a meal of me.
I hadn't long to wait. 'It's time I spoke to you frankly . . .'
I noticed how bright his eyes were, though they could no longer
conceal how long they'd been open.
'You have great responsibilities, and you don't need me to tell you
that you've done a damn good job - you started off with poem-codes
and ended with all this . . .' He glanced at the silks but seconds later
his tone stopped matching them.
'It's not your ability I'm questioning, it's your attitude .. .' He
leaned forward until we were only a few miles apart. 'Don't you
544
SBLP-DEFENCB
realize that Bletchley has to deal with all grades of cipher, and needs
every bit of help it can get? Hasn't it occurred to you that some of
your unorthodoxies would interest them greatly - Gift-horse and
MOPs to name only two? But what chance do you give them to
judge for themselves? You wait for people like Dudley-Smith to visit
you a couple of times a year, and then show them the minimum.
Why must you be so damn insular? You don't strike me as being
modest, but surely you're aware that your approach to codes is, to
say the least, uncommon, and could be of the utmost value to Bletchley
and others. I urge you from this moment onwards to pass on new
ideas like Gift-horsing one-time pads because SOE isn't the only
organization trying to kick the Boche in their cryptographic balls .. .
and now, if I may, I'll try one of those sandwiches.'
He tried two but I didn't join him because I knew that he hadn't
quite finished with me.
'John tells me that you've still not visited Bletchley.'
'No, sir.'
'Why not?'
'I might want to stay there.'
'They might even let you' - his eyes twinkled - 'if only because
you're the one that got away.' He looked slowly round the office.
'Perhaps it's as well that you did.' J/
He stood up and held out his hand, which was a lot drier than
mine. 'You've been more help to me than you can possibly know.'
He closed the door quietly.
I still didn't know what he did or why he'd come.
There's a club among senior signals officers and I'll never be admitted
to it, and aspects of the code war I'll never understand. *
Ten minutes later I began Gift-horsing LOPs.
* Some fifty years later I met Commander Denniston's son Robin and learned that
Denniston senior left Bletchley in '42 to take charge of the department which specialized
in breaking diplomatic traffic. To this day neither of us knows the purpose of his visit or
how I was of help to him (though I do know how much his son has been able to help me
throughout the writing of this book).
545
SEVENTY-FOUR
Taken for Granted
During the past two months, which felt more like centuries, SHAEF
had made radical changes to SOE's structure, many of them long
overdue.
On 1 May they'd ordained that SOE in London should henceforth
be known as Special Forces Headquarters, and that our OSS counterparts
should cease calling themselves 0/S and adopt the same
cover.
In mid-June they insisted on amalgamating our rival French sections,
and gave Buckmaster and Passy an outer limit of 1 July in
which to place themselves and their resources under the command
of General Koenig, head of the EMFII (Etat-Majeur des Forces Francaises
de 1'Interior), which had been created for the sole purpose of
controlling all Resistance groups which had previously worked for
either French section.
SHAEF then implemented a decision which stood the Signals directorate
on what remained of its head. They established an SFHQ in
France. It was known as Special Forces Advanced Headquarters, and
was adjacent to their own Advanced Headquarters. By mid-June it
was already in operation and by July many of SOE's finest (including
Robin Brook) had left Baker Street to advise SHAEF on what the
Resistance could deliver.
There were no communication problems as all messages between
Brook and Co. and London were exchanged in one-time pads, but
at the beginning of July Special Forces Advanced (though in Signals
matters retarded) HQ informed Nick that it was essential for them
to be able to exchange messages at short notice with circuits of agents
anywhere in France. They also informed him that this same facility
546
TAKEN FOR GRANTED
was required by SOE's representatives with 21 Army Group and the
1st British and 2nd Canadian armies.
But even that wasn't all. Army commanders needed to order agents
anywhere in France to sabotage specific targets at short notice. It was
taken for granted that SOE's Signals directorate would provide the
solution forthwith.
It took six of us twelve agonizing hours to devise a three-way
communication system, though we couldn't be sure it would
work.
A week later it was fully operational. All messages for agents were
relayed to London by SFHQ, and we then re-enciphered them in the
agents' own codes and retransmitted them. Conversely, agents sent
their replies to London in WOKs or LOPs and we re-enciphered
them in one-time pads, and re-transmitted them to SFHQ. With
Nick's backing I'd refused to allow any of the three-way traffic to be
retransmitted in the poem-codes which still bedevilled segments of
our traffic.
The urgency of the messages was unlike any we'd known, and the
code rooms in London and our three WT stations had to pool their
resources to minimize delay.
But by 1 July the satisfaction of watching the girls achieve impossible
targets was put into perspective by one of the most sickening
telegrams ever to pass through the code room.
It was transmitted by Roger (Francis Cammaerts), who'd been
appointed head of all Allied missions in south-eastern France, and
who'd organized Jockey, a railway-demolition network in the AlpesMaritimes,
which was on a par with Pimento. Cammaerts had repeatedly
warned London that without the heavy weapons which the
Americans had promised to drop, the freedom fighters at Vercors
would have no chance of withstanding a major German counterattack,
and he was convinced that they'd be wiped out if they didn't
disperse immediately.
A week later the Germans landed crack SS troops on the Vercors
plateau, and overwhelmed the lightly armed Maquis. In the carnage
which followed one woman was raped by seventeen men in succession
while a German doctor held her pulse, ready to restrain the soldiers
if she fainted. Another woman was disembowelled, and left to die
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with her intestines wound round her neck. A third had the fingers of
both hands amputated.
It was no consolation to the girl who decoded the message to learn
from subsequent messages that the Americans had broken through
in Brittany, that the SAS and the Resistance had secured the Breton
countryside, and that the Jedburghs had finally (and successfully)
gone into action. She asked to be transferred to other duties, and I
put her to work Gift-horsing WOKs.
I escaped from Vercors by spending the next eight hours attacking
our first indecipherable from a Jedburgh. It had been transmitted by
Andy in his one-time pad, and had already defied three blanket attacks
and my so-called guidelines.
Eleven hundred failures later I threw the pad on to the floor in
disgust, and discovered that instead of starting on page one of his
pad he'd started on page six, a major cryptographic breakthrough.
(I subsequently learned that he'd detached page six so that he could
always have a sheet of his pad with him, and had decided to use it
before it became too crumpled.)
His message made disturbing reading, if anything could be after
Vercors. Two members of his team had met with accidents on landing
and had broken three legs between them.
Eleven other Jedburgh teams were also operating in France, and
their encoding was flawless. (One message stated, 'We're now sitting
and waiting', which puzzled the Jedburgh section but which I took
to be a reference to our Milton Hall encounter.)
No longer quite so 'damn insular', thanks to Commander Two Us,
I noticed that the attempt to merge our rival French sections under
Koenig had only driven them further apart, whereas the fusion of
SOE and a branch of the OSS into SFHQ had had the opposite
effect.
The Americans were more co-operative than ever, and had supplied
us with large quantities of silk, which we badly needed to produce
new codes for the Middle East and Burma. Their eagerness to help
in every way they could may have been due to the difficulties we
suspected them of having with Sussex (their Intelligence-gathering
548
operation with C), though they never referred to them. And under
the leadership of Captain Phoenix their code room at Station
53c had quickly mastered the complex re-encipherment drill,
and had developed a character of its own, as any good code-room
should.
I became totally absorbed in trying to speed up the three-way
system, and was surprised when Nick ordered me to report to his
office immediately. I was sitting rigidly at his desk with Heffer only
a puff or two away. Whatever they'd been discussing had drained
the room of air.
'What I have to tell you is highly confidential.' With a quick glance
at Heffer, he extracted three documents from a Top Secret folder.
'These mustn't be discussed outside this room ...'
He seemed uncertain how to proceed or even whether he should,
but finally said that three messages in code had been intercepted and
the only thing he could tell me about them was that I had to break
them as quickly as possible. 'The last message is incomplete,' he
added.
So was his summary. He'd said nothing about who'd sent the
messages, who'd intercepted them, or why they were in his possession,
and Heffer's expression warned me not to ask.
I was finally allowed to look at them. 'It's obviously a substitute
code of some kind - any idea what language they're in?'
'Possibly Dutch.'
'From an agent, sir?'
'To one more likely . . . they may have been sent, I repeat may, by
the Dutch government-in-exile.'
I received another silent warning from Heffer to ask no more
questions.
Nick then instructed me to choose six coders from London or
the stations to help me break them. They'd work in a room next
to the Signals Office to which only he, Heffer and I would have
access, but on no account must they know what they were working
on. 'You're to tell them that we've been asked to help break some
important German messages which they're not to discuss with
anyone.'
He seemed to think the meeting was over, but I suggested that a
549
Dutch linguist might be useful and was sharply informed that he or
she would have to be a member of the Signals directorate as no one
else in SOE must know what we were doing.
Heffer then made his first vocal contribution. 'The messages may
contain place names, so a few maps might be handy . . .'
His face was the only map I could rely on, and it warned me to
'get cracking'.
I chose three coders from London and three from the stations, and
a rumour spread throughout the Signals Office that Mr Marks was
forming a team to break Hitler's secret diary.
But before putting the girls to work, there were some questions to
be answered.
Why did Nick suspect that the messages were from the Dutch
government-in-exile? He was in touch with his former colleagues in
Y, who'd almost certainly intercepted them. Could it be they who'd
told him? And had the government-in-exile got SHAEF's permission
to send messages abroad, and been allotted special frequencies?
The person who'd know all about the frequencies, and who was
also in touch with Y, was Jerry Parker, the head of Signal-planning.
I questioned him without disclosing my reasons or mentioning the
government-in-exile, but Gerry had his own antennae and seemed to
sense what I was after. Or perhaps he already knew.
He told me that the 'Dutch bastards' (with him a term of endearment)
could communicate with the Netherlands any time they wanted
to by getting messages to their fleet, which would have no trouble
transmitting them according to instructions. He was convinced that
they'd frequently been in touch with Philips of Eindhoven, who could
easily receive their messages because of the huge quantity of radio
equipment they were manufacturing. He had no doubt about their
objectives: 'They've got millions of guilders at stake, and want to
protect 'em. They're more concerned with playing politics than winning
the war, like the rest of the bastards.'
He left to continue playing them himself.
I still didn't know why the messages were important, or why Nick
didn't send them to Bletchley, or why he wouldn't tell me who'd
intercepted them.
But of one thing I could be certain. It was time to 'get cracking'.
550
The first message was fifty letters long, the second fifty-five, and the
third (which Nick had said was incomplete) only twenty. The first
step was to take a frequency count of the individual letters, then
of the bigrams (or pairs of letters), and finally of the three-letter
combinations.
The girls, some of whom had come armed with German dictionaries,
set about the tedious task (which Bletchley probably did by
machine) as if they were embarking on an early morning run. It
became increasingly uphill.
The frequency count confirmed that a substitution code had been
used, and it seemed safe to assume that with millions of guilders at
stake, government-in-exile, would use one-time pads, and I proceeded
on that basis. And got nowhere.
After three days of trying every permutation I could think of, the
girls had lost all confidence in me, and I was pleased with their good
judgement.
There was no sign that the messages had been enciphered on the
same code-groups, which would be our only hope of breaking them,
and I was more than ever convinced that this was a job for Bletchley,
whose cryptographers didn't need to drop one-time pads on the floor
to achieve their results.
I was now on the floor myself, with my self-esteem more crumpled
than page six of Andy's LOP. The only other time I'd felt as low as
this was when I'd failed to find a way to set a trap for Herr Giskes,
and I suddenly remembered how the solution had finally come.
I'd gone to 84 and sat in the chair once occupied by Freud when
he was writing Moses and Monotheism, and the idea of sending
Giskes a deliberate indecipherable had popped up from the unconscious,
the greatest of all code rooms. Hoping that 84 would provide
another miracle, I returned to Freud's chair without leaving my office,
and remembered what else had happened.
He'd been shown every book on Moses that Marks and Co. had
in stock, and I'd read one which had particularly interested him. I
hadn't thought about it since, but closed my eyes and did so now ...
When Moses was rescued from the bulrushes by his adoptive
mother, she was forced by law to take him in front of Pharaoh, who
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BETWEEN SILK AMD CYANIDE
was determined to find the infant King of the Jews and kill him. To
test the baby's credentials, the high priest held out the crown jewels
of Egypt to Moses with one hand, and a brazier of burning coals
with the other.
The infant stretched out his hand towards the jewels, but the Angel
of the Lord guided it to the brazier, and he put the burning coals in
his mouth.
Pharaoh was convinced that no King of the Jews would make such
a mistake and allowed the infant's adoptive mother to remove him,
but Moses spoke with a stammer for the rest of his life.
According to George Plummer, Freud interpreted the incident as a
symbol of oral penetration, and used it to develop his theory that
Moses and Aaron had a homosexual relationship.
I opened my eyes, and discovered that my hand was resting on
something. Had it been guided there by the Angel of the Lord?
It was a copy of an agent's Playfair code, an elementary system
suitable for concealing brief messages in 'innocent letters' but for very
little else. It was marginally more secure than invisible ink, and even
Duke Street knew better than to use it for WT traffic.
Only a novice angel would suggest that Playfair was my burning
coals. Yet was I being the novice? . .. Could Playfair be the answer?
It would explain the lack of indicators, the frequency of the
consonants and the repetition of the bigrams. And it was possible
that the three messages had been enciphered on the same Playfair
phrase.
I hurried in to the girls, who were less than pleased to see me.
Doing my best not to stammer, I said that there was one last thing
to be tried.
'Our patience,' one of them whispered.
I showed them how to break Playfair (it was just tricky enough to
interest them) and then hurried away to see what else the Angel could
do for us.
But no miracles occurred, and after slogging away for twenty-four
hours without the slightest success I began cursing 84, Freud and
those poofters Moses and Aaron. I was about to tell Nick that he
needed to consult Tiltman when the telephone rang.
It was the team supervisor, but I could hardly hear what she was
552
TAKEN FOR GRANTED
saying above the babble in the background. One of the girls thought
she'd found a German word, but the linguist was convinced it was
Dutch.
She was right.
Two hours later the messages were en clair, and the cheer that
went up in the code room could have been heard in the Netherlands.
I marched the jubilant code-busters into Nick's office and carried
the broken messages aloft as if they were the Torah. His face blessed
us. As we left he was reaching for the telephone.
I still didn't know what the messages contained as my Dutch was
on a par with my Egyptian, and the girls were too elated to care. But
it was Heffer who was responsible for the breakthrough: the messages
contained several place names, as the Guru had suggested.
All of them were new to me, and I looked them up on the map in
case they cropped up again.
One of them was a town called Arnhem.
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SEVENTY-FIVE
The Day of Reckoning
By mid-August the outcome of Overlord was no longer in doubt,
least of all to the Germans. The Allies had begun pushing them back
towards the frontiers of their Fatherland, the French had ensured that
entire divisions never reached it and showed them what was meant
by a National Uprising, and de Gaulle was expected to arrive in Paris
within the next few weeks.
The code department had also made an advance or two. "We'd
produced over 20 million one-time pad groups, over 750,000 transposition-keys
and over 8,000 code-books. We'd also re-enciphered
over 4,000 three-way messages.
But despite all this (and perhaps a little more) there was one country
section which had made no demands on us whatsoever, whose traffic
(if it passed any) we hadn't handled, and whose plans were completely
unknown to us. Yet it was potentially the most important country
section in the whole of SOE: it was responsible for the infiltration
of agents into Germany, and was known as X section.
It was run by a major named Field-Robinson with the help of two
assistants, but I knew them only by their symbols (AD/X, AD/X PA
and AD/X1 respectively). I knew even less about their activities, which
appeared to be non-existent, yet if they intended to operate inside
Germany they'd need WT sets, signal-plans and codes unless they
proposed to send their messages by carrier-pigeon.
I raised the question with Nick, who'd been unusually forthcoming
since the breaking of the three Playfair messages and he explained
the mystery of X section's silence at greater length than I'd expected.
The decision not to infiltrate agents into Germany had been taken
by Hambo when he was CD. He was convinced that security in the
554
Fatherland was so tight that large-scale operations would end in
disaster, and that the infiltration of individual agents would achieve
nothing.
Gubbins had agreed with this view, much to C's relief as many of
their peacetime agents were still operating in Germany and Austria
and they didn't want SOE's saboteurs to cause even tighter security
measures and thus blow their established agents (one of their principal
complaints against us in the rest of Europe). But the OSS took a
completely different view, and had the power to enforce it. They
planned to infiltrate agents into Germany and Austria via Switzerland,
Italy and Yugoslavia. X section's function would be limited to supplying
them with contacts and the benefit of their inexperience.
Nick added that their first join-op was code-named Downend and
was already being mounted. It was on a very small scale, and no WT
communications were involved.
I'd listened in silence until now. 'Won't SOE ever operate inside
Germany?'
He looked at me with a trace of his old wariness. 'Not unless the
policy changes, but stop worrying. One day your codes will be used
inside the Fatherland, I assure you of that.' He smiled at me from
the power-base of his secret knowledge, and the briefing was over.
A sure sign that France was about to be liberated was the number of
senior officers who were anxious to leave Baker Street and join Special
Forces Advanced HQ. They knew that de Gaulle's re-entry into Paris
was imminent, and wanted to be there to make him feel at home.
They made a surprising request of the Signals directorate: they
wanted to understand the workings of our three-way communications,
and had asked Nick and me to brief them. He'd agreed
that he'd deal with the WT aspects, and that I'd fill them in about
codes.
I certainly intended to fill them in, but not in the way they expected.
I followed my leader into a packed conference room, and the first
people who caught my eye and returned most of it were the 'hard
men' (George Courtauld and Tommy Davies), without whom we'd
have had no silks. They were flanked by Harry Sporborg (Gubbins's
right hand) and by Mr Murray (who'd shared my office for a week
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BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
and was now Gubbins's left hand). Group Captain Venner (head of
Finance) was also in the front row totting up expenses.
I wasn't prepared for such a collection of power-houses and sensed
that there was more to this meeting than I'd realized, but nothing
was going to deflect me from my intention, which I hadn't disclosed
to Nick.
He mounted a small platform at the end of the room and, despite
his lumbago and his preference for giving lectures on a one-to-one
basis, spent the next twenty minutes describing the signal-plans, WT
sets and procedures which had made our three-way communications
possible. Speaking from notes without looking up, he appeared not
to notice that many of his audience had begun producing symptoms
of mental lumbago.
But he still wasn't ready to end his sked. Turning his attention to
codes, by no means his strongest subject, he spent another five minutes
describing the innovations 'Marks has introduced' (some of which I
recognized) but suddenly seemed to remember that he hadn't arrived
unaccompanied, and turned aside to let me take over.
I'd waited two years for this moment. There were many officers
present who'd insisted that agents must re-encode their indecipherables
if we'd failed to break them in time, and this was the day of
reckoning.
I mounted the platform, and all the girls who'd stayed up night
after night trying to break those indecipherables against the clock
stood beside me, red eyes, periods and all. I pulled the covers off my
customary prop, and those still awake stared with disinterest at the
two encoded messages which had been written on the blackboard in
my own unfair hand.
But these were no ordinary messages. They were real indecipherables
which had arrived from a Buckmaster agent a year ago, and
which had taken us over 11,000 attempts to break. They'd been
encoded on the same transposition-keys, and the only alteration I'd
made was to shorten one of them to make their lengths identical.
Trying to keep the anger out of my deep brown melter, and
restraining the impulse to start, 'Listen, you bastards, if you can
remember how to', I explained what the messages were and described
what the girls had done to break them until all our heads were reeling.
556
THE DAY OF RECKONING
My blanket attack then gathered momentum. 'Nick wants me to
explain to you why no poem-code traffic must be passed by SFHQ.'
Nick, who'd asked no such thing, nodded emphatically.
I spent the next ten minutes explaining the weaknesses of the poemcode,
probing for theirs by shooting questions at them like a schoolmaster
with a recalcitrant class.
'Nick also wants you to understand the gift you make to the Germans
when you order agents to re-encode their indecipherables.'
Nick nodded again.
Pointing to the two messages, I explained the anagramming process
and challenged them to call out whichever words they thought most
likely to appear.
I was convinced that, with less help from me than usual, it would
take SOE's intelligentsia hours to find the right phrases. They recovered
both clear-texts within twenty minutes and sat back, ready to
join Bletchley. But although they'd been unexpectedly patient with
me, a few of them (including Nick) began glancing at their watches.
'There's one last thing Nick wants you to see.'
I broke the speed limit trying to explain how the enemy reconstructed
poems, then pointed to the transposition-key on the blackboard
and invited them to attack it. It would be more difficult than
most as the agent's poem was in French.
They were slow at first, but as soon as Sporborg discovered the
word 'chanson', a miscreant at the back called out the poem in full.
George Courtauld whispered, 'Well, I'll be buggered.' Tommy
Davies spoke very quietly to him, and a few seconds later Courtauld
looked at me and nodded.
I'd taken even longer than Nick, and still hadn't discussed the
three-way traffic. I turned to the door without waiting for questions.
Tommy moved very quickly considering that he was a member of
the Executive Council. Taking my arm, he asked if I'd accompany
him to his office as there was something important he wished to
discuss with me in private.
I couldn't imagine what.
Looking hard at me, he confided that Courtauld's (of which he
was a director) spent substantial sums of money in peacetime sending
cables around the world. They used a code-book of some kind which
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BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
he was sure I could improve on and thus reduce their costs. He
didn't know my long-term plans, but would I be interested in running
Courtauld's code department when the war was over?
My short-term plan was to kick him in the balls, but I abandoned
it for three reasons:
1 He'd been invaluable to us
2 We still needed him
3 It was the best offer I'd had.
I replied that from the moment I'd been conceived my father had
been waiting for me to run his rare bookshop and I couldn't disappoint
him, but I'd gladly assist Courtauld's in any way I could in
my spare time. Meanwhile I'd be grateful if he'd help us with a list
of urgent requirements which I happened to have with me.
He made a note of the estimated quantities, reduced them by half
and agreed to do his best. He then announced that there was something
else he wanted me to do for him, but I must bear with him
while he fully explained his reasons. He was seriously concerned
about the number of people who'd stopped concentrating on the war
effort.
He quickly made clear that it wasn't the Signals directorate he was
targeting, especially after this morning. He was worried about the
factory workers who assembled WT sets and spare parts for SOE.
'Far too many of 'em are taking victory for granted,' he thundered,
'and their loss of urgency is reflected in their output.'
He blamed the falling-off in production on the 'bloody stupid'
campaigns being run by the Ministry of Information to buoy up
morale, and on the BBC and the press for giving the public the
impression that the war was almost won, instead of stressing how
far we had to go and that Hitler wasn't finished yet.
I was wondering what this had to do with me when he suddenly
said that a remedy had occurred to him, and that George Courtauld
agreed with it.
I remembered their whispered conversation and the way Courtauld
had nodded.
When I understood what their remedy entailed, even the Ministry
558
THE DAY OF RECKONING
of Information couldn't restore my morale. The 'hard men' were
convinced that Nick and I made an excellent double-act, and wanted
us to address the workers at four of their factories.
'We've no doubt that you'll increase their output,' Tommy said,
'no doubt at all.' He added that the four factories were within easy
reach of London, that the workers were under the Official Secrets
Act so there'd be no security problems, and that we needn't overburden
them with details. It was the feelings we conveyed that would
restore their sense of urgency. 'But the pep-talks must start at once
before the rot sets in completely.' He anticipated no other problems.
I foresaw plenty. My own spare parts were beginning to feel worn,
and I had to reassemble them every time I played the parlour-game.
Sustaining the code department's war effort was difficult enough without
trying to pep up other people's, a sign of staleness I'd no intention
of remedying.
The whole concept appalled me, and my expression must have said
so because he snatched up the phone to Nick and explained what he
and Courtauld wanted. He added that I'd seemed reluctant to take
part.
( He listened inscrutably for almost a minute, then said, 'Thanks, ; Nick,' and replaced the receiver.
r Drumming his fingers on my list of requirements, he announced , that Nick was prepared to start the talks immediately, if necessary
' without me. However, he and Courtauld believed it was our contrasting
styles which made our act effective.
I I was left with a choice: either I could cancel three production
meetings, four final briefings and six interviews with coders, or I
could risk offending the 'hard men'.
I decided to go on the road with Nick.
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SEVENTY-SIX
Pockets of Resistance
Our two-man crusade was launched at a factory near Barnet. Fifty
or so girls in overalls were waiting for us in a large canteen and
looked up without much interest as we arrived, escorted by the factory
manager.
Nick addressed them first, and thirty minutes later I told them what
else they needed to know.
In return they taught me the nuts and bolts of communication: to
stop making phrases, to leave the jokes to Jack Benny, and to allow
the facts to speak for themselves. It was entirely due to them that
when I returned to the office I was able to simplify mental onetime
pads, Jedburgh code-books and the growing concept of Peeping Tom.
At the end of the third lecture we heard from Tommy Davies that
production had risen by 60 per cent.
But on the morning of our final sortie I learned from Valois that
'our friend Tommee' had been put on a train to Germany and sent
to an extermination camp. Valois believed it was Buchenwald. I found
it a little difficult to see the blackboard that morning, and the deep
brown melter had developed a croak, but the girls didn't seem to
notice.
Since I couldn't share Tommy's suffering I did the next best thing
by producing a series of abscesses in the axilla which had to be lanced
each morning by a doctor who warned me that if I didn't ease off
from whatever I was doing he really wouldn't be responsible.
(I didn't know it at the time, but the RAF bombed Tommy's train
and set part of it alight, and a girl in manacles crawled down the
corridor to bring him water. It was Violette Szabo, and it was their
first and only meeting.)
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POCKETS OF RESISTANCE
A few medications later I learned from Buckmaster that Noor
Inayat Khan had been sent to Dachau but was thought to be alive.
At this point in the war (late August '44) time was measured in
code-groups and 100,000 of these later I was twenty-four (an event
of which the code department had been given ample notice). But on
the same morning (24 September) news broke through from the outside
world that thousands of Allied troops in Holland had had their
last birthdays.
According to the Dutch traffic (90 per cent of which was in onetime
pads or WOKs), the Germans had massacred the British and American
forces who'd been ordered to capture Arnhem, and I remembered
that the town had twice been mentioned in the three Playfair messages
Nick had given us to break. If the Germans had intercepted them
(and others from the same source?) could they have contributed to
the disastrous losses? Nick was convinced that they weren't responsible
for the massive counter-attacks, which were only to be expected,
Heffer wasn't sure, and I was unable to establish any connection. *
The Germans were also counter-attacking at their own frontiers,
and the Allies were unable to cross them.
Yet X section still showed no signs of sending agents into Germany,
and I still couldn't understand why there was no place for SOE inside
the Fatherland, or why the task of harassing them from within should
be left to the Americans.
The one thing I did understand was the growing list of SOE's
casualties. On 2 November I learned that Rabinovitch had been sent
to a concentration camp, and was thought to have been hanged.
By now, time could also be measured in exterminated agents.
I was looking at the photograph Rabinovitch had given me of Louis
knocking out Schmeling (which was next to Violette's chess-set and
Tommy's cigar) when I received a message to report to Gubbins
immediately. It was so long since I'd been to his office that I'd forgotten
the ferocity of his 'Come.'
Six crossed swords were pointed at my jugular. Four of them
belonged to Gubbins and Nick, but by far the sharpest adorned the
shoulders of a general standing by the window.
* Nor have I since.
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BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
He had eyes which could lance an abscess, a court-martial of a
mouth, and an expression which warned me that he'd found his next
victim.
Gubbins came straight to the point (he knew no other way).
Five minutes later I learned that SOE was to play a major part in
a deception scheme code-named Periwig.
The purpose of Periwig was to convince the Germans that there
was a large Resistance Movement inside Germany which was about
to be activated. Gubbins stressed that the Germans would expect
London to send instructions to these agents, and that dummy traffic
would be an essential part of the Periwig op.
'Any ideas?'
'I'm afraid not, sir.'
I took his disappointment as a compliment.
'I know nothing about German traffic . . .'
The unknown general took a step towards me. 'What do you need
to know?'
'This is General Templar,' barked Gubbins.
A razor nicked my ear, and I realized that Templar was still addressing
me.
'Kindly answer my question. What do you need to know?'
'Whether the bulk of the traffic is passed in letters or figures,
whether they're in groups of four or five '
'Time for that later. Don't you have any ideas?'
I suggested that one way of helping Periwig would be to drop
code-books printed in German to all the areas where the Resistance
Movement was supposed to be operating.
Gubbins and Templar glanced at each other sharply.
I added that the code-books would contain vocabularies designed
for active Resistance Movements, and that they'd be dropped with silk one-time pads. I then began describing how we handled our other
dummy traffic but Templar turned impatiently to Gubbins.
'Colin, I think the best thing would be if Marks brought this dummy
traffic and the rest of his bumpf to my office at 1700 hours, and I'll
have a good look at it.'
Gubbins nodded approvingly.
'Right,' said Templar with a hint of satisfaction, 'that's it then.'
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Not quite.
Mindful of military protocol, I addressed Templar through my
superior officer. 'Brigadier Nicholls, wouldn't it simplify matters if
General Temple were to '
'Templar,' barked Templar.
'I'm sorry, sir ... wouldn't it be better if General Templar came
to my office so that I could show him the whole of our bumph?'
Nick turned to him. 'I think it would, Gerald.'
Templar graciously conceded that he'd call on me at 1700 hours.
I turned again to my superior officer. 'Could the general please
make it seventeen thirty hours, sir? ... I've a lecture to give which I
can't cancel, and some agents to brief .. .'
The silence could have been cut with a sword.
'I suppose you need the extra half-hour to come up with all the
answers?' suggested Templar.
'He's been known to do it in less,' said Nick, my protector.
Gubbins turned to me abruptly. 'Right, Leo - off you go.'
It was the first Leo of the meeting, so I must have said something
which pleased him.
I hurried in to Heffer, who seemed to be expecting me, and described
my encounter with Templar. 'Help me, Heff. What can you tell me
about him? What's his background? What's he like as a man?'
Never one to refuse an appeal for help even if it meant putting
down his newspaper, Heffer said that Templar was an old friend of
Gubbins, that he was a senior staff officer with a reputation for
unorthodoxy, and that Montgomery thought highly of him. But all
he knew about him as a man was that he was supposed to have a
command of bad language which was second to none. He urged me
to set up a working relationship with him immediately or I'd never
recover.
The tone of that relationship was set by Templar the moment he
walked in.
'You knew my name was Templar, didn't you?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And you could have seen me at seventeen hundred hours, couldn't
you?'
563
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
He had eyes which could lance an abscess, a court-martial of a mouth, and an expression which warned me that he'd found his next
victim.
Gubbins came straight to the point (he knew no other way).
Five minutes later I learned that SOE was to play a major part in a deception scheme code-named Periwig.
The purpose of Periwig was to convince the Germans that there
was a large Resistance Movement inside Germany which was about
to be activated. Gubbins stressed that the Germans would expect
London to send instructions to these agents, and that dummy traffic
would be an essential part of the Periwig op.
'Any ideas?'
'I'm afraid not, sir.'
I took his disappointment as a compliment.
'I know nothing about German traffic . . .'
The unknown general took a step towards me. 'What do you need
to know?'
'This is General Templar,' barked Gubbins.
A razor nicked my ear, and I realized that Templar was still addressing
me.
'Kindly answer my question. What do you need to knowf
'Whether the bulk of the traffic is passed in letters or figures,
whether they're in groups of four or five '
'Time for that later. Don't you have any ideas?'
I suggested that one way of helping Periwig would be to drop
code-books printed in German to all the areas where the Resistance
Movement was supposed to be operating.
Gubbins and Templar glanced at each other sharply.
I added that the code-books would contain vocabularies designed
for active Resistance Movements, and that they'd be dropped with
silk one-time pads. I then began describing how we handled our other
dummy traffic but Templar turned impatiently to Gubbins.
'Colin, I think the best thing would be if Marks brought this dummy
traffic and the rest of his bumpf to my office at 1700 hours, and I'll
have a good look at it.'
Gubbins nodded approvingly.
'Right,' said Templar with a hint of satisfaction, 'that's it then.'
562
Not quite.
Mindful of military protocol, I addressed Templar through my
superior officer. 'Brigadier Nicholls, wouldn't it simplify matters if
General Temple were to '
'Templar,' barked Templar.
Tm sorry, sir ... wouldn't it be better if General Templar came
to my office so that I could show him the whole of our bumph?'
Nick turned to him. 'I think it would, Gerald.'
Templar graciously conceded that he'd call on me at 1700 hours.
I turned again to my superior officer. 'Could the general please
make it seventeen thirty hours, sir? . .. I've a lecture to give which I
can't cancel, and some agents to brief .. .'
The silence could have been cut with a sword.
'I suppose you need the extra half-hour to come up with all the
answers?' suggested Templar.
'He's been known to do it in less,' said Nick, my protector.
Gubbins turned to me abruptly. 'Right, Leo - off you go.'
It was the first Leo of the meeting, so I must have said something
which pleased him.
I hurried in to Heffer, who seemed to be expecting me, and described
my encounter with Templar. 'Help me, Heff. What can you tell me
about him? What's his background? What's he like as a man?'
Never one to refuse an appeal for help even if it meant putting
down his newspaper, Heffer said that Templar was an old friend of
Gubbins, that he was a senior staff officer with a reputation for
unorthodoxy, and that Montgomery thought highly of him. But all
he knew about him as a man was that he was supposed to have a
command of bad language which was second to none. He urged me
to set up a working relationship with him immediately or I'd never
recover.
The tone of that relationship was set by Templar the moment he
walked in.
'You knew my name was Templar, didn't you?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And you could have seen me at seventeen hundred hours, couldn't
you?'
563
'Yes, sir.'
'Right. Well, from this moment onwards, stop playing games.'
He then sat opposite me, glared at my overflowing ashtray, and
asked how I wanted to begin.
'I'd like to ask a question if I may, sir.'
'What d'you think I've come for? To smell those stinking cigars?'
'Assuming we get Periwig right, sir, what's our time-scale?'
'Did I hear you say "assuming"? - I bloody well hope not.' He
thumped the desk, and the inkwell pee'd itself. 'We're going to get
Periwig right - and fast. Starting now . . . and I mean NO W. Show
me what you've got.'
I produced six different code-books and spread them in front of
him.
He examined them carefully, and addressed me without looking
up. 'Did you have a hand in these vocabularies?'
'I kept a watching brief, sir. My main job was preparing the codegroups.'
'I'll
want you in on every discussion. Periwig's vocabulary has got
to be right. I won't tolerate half-arsed concoctions.'
At this moment Muriel entered with Mother's far from half-arsed
concoctions, and he stared at them in astonishment. 'What are these
- camouflaged code-books?'
'Perhaps you'd prefer something stronger, sir?'
'Yes - a good idea for Periwig.'
Nevertheless he helped himself to coffee, sampled the sandwiches,
and then asked where they came from.
For some reason I told him the truth.
'You an only child?'
I nodded.
'I thought as much.'
He then sharply reminded me that the main purpose of Periwig
was to bog down 'the Hun's security forces all over Germany' and
that I mustn't lose sight of this when preparing the code-groups and
the dummy traffic.
'No, sir.'
Glancing at his watch, he asked at what time I usually reported
for duty.
564
POCKETS OF RESISTANCE
'At 0700 hours, unless there's a crisis.'
'Periwig's a crisis. I'll be here at 0600 every morning. Your mother
must call you early.'
He then informed me that he intended to take a Jedburgh codebook
with him so that he could study it overnight. 'I enjoy a little
light reading,' he added.
He slipped one into his briefcase, nodded abruptly and turned to
the door.
'Excuse me, sir, but we don't allow code-books to be taken off the
premises.'
He halted in mid-stride, then performed an about-turn which would
have done credit to a sergeant-major. 'Are you seriously objecting?
Or are you playing games again?'
'Both, sir.'
Apparently satisfied with my answer, he replaced the code-book
on the desk and walked out in silence.
My self-confidence walked out with him. After working alone for
so long I knew I couldn't function under the constant supervision of
a military dictator. My only hope was that Templar wouldn't be with
us for long.
I learned next morning that he'd been appointed head of X section.
565
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Operation Periwig
Nineteen forty-five had a miraculous start. Templar went abroad for
a few days to an unknown destination (hopefully Berlin), giving all
who worked for him the chance to recuperate.
However, he was back all too soon, and discovered that Periwig
had made no progress in his absence due to a policy dispute. He
asked me to explain why 'this bloody outfit took so long to reach a
decision' and was kind enough to supply the answer: 'It's because
SOE as a whole is the sum total of its farts - and they'd better not
start blowing in Periwig's direction.'
He was angry with me because although Periwig's vocabulary was
finished it couldn't be delivered to the printers as I was bogged down
with the code-groups. Although I'd convinced myself that an active
Resistance Movement existed in Germany because Tommy was in
prison there, I was equally convinced that the code-groups weren't
ready to stand up to expert scrutiny.
I was having the utmost difficulty in standing up to Templar's. He'd
begun calling on me on his way home to check the day's progress, and
seemed to enjoy watching me flounder while he made up for lost
sandwiches.
One night he caught me pencilling some code-groups on my copy
of the vocabulary.
'Finished at last?'
'Getting there, sir. I'm convinced the basic concept's right but I'm
trying to improve it . . .'
He gave his 'How long, 0 Lord' look, and I decided to ask him a
question.
'Sir, how sure are you that any of the code-books will be captured?'
566
'Leave that problem to me, and get on with yours.'
He was back the next night for a repeat performance, but this time
Gubbins came to collect him half an hour later.
Gubbins watched me in silence for as long as he could bear to
(roughly ten seconds), then shot a question at me a la Templar.
'What's your problem, Marks?'
'Verisimilitude, sir.'
'Give her my regards,' he said, and took Templar away with him.
An hour later I realized what the code-groups should be.
It took Muriel three hours to type them opposite the 6,000 phrases,
and the RAF unit half a day to photograph the now completed
code-book on to a single sheet of silk.
The moment I heard Templar marching down the corridor I buried
my head in my hands in mock despair.
'Now what's the hold-upF
'You are, sir.' I pointed to the sheet of silk on my desk. '. . . it's
waiting for you.'
The way he picked it up, and stared at it in astonishment, was a
moment to relish.
'Good God! ... I'd no idea it would look like this.'
Neither had I till a few hours ago.
K
K-wird-zweimal-gefunkelt-und .............................................................................	2727
Kalkulationen-falsch-bitte-nochmals iiberpriifen ..................................................	2736
Kampf-hat-sich-entspannt-zwischen-dem-Feind- ..................................................	2745
Kam-sur-Stelle-wie-abgemacht-fand-aber .............................................................	2754
Kann-Auftrag-nicht-ausfuhren-Umstande-walten-gegen .......................................	2763
Kami aushalten-bis ..............................................................................................	2772
4(ziffer) ...............................................................................................................	2781
Kami bestimmt-den-Auftrag-nachstes-mal-ausfuhren ...........................................	2790
Kami gewiss-Widerstandsgruppe-n-organisieren ..................................................	2800
Kami keine-inneren-Kontakte-bekommen ............................................................	2819
5 (ziffer) ...............................................................................................................	2828
Kami nicht-mehr-lange-aushalten .........................................................................	2837
Kami Night Operation-durchfuhren-bis-Material-zu-Verftigung ...........................	2846
Kami Night weitgehendverOffentlichenwegenpolitischerVerwicklungsmoglichkeiten
..............................................................................	2855
Kami Operation-sofort-durchfuhren-wemi-Material ............................................	2864
8 (ziffer) ...............................................................................................................	2873
567
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Operation Periwig
Nineteen forty-five had a miraculous start. Templar went abroad for
a few days to an unknown destination (hopefully Berlin), giving all
who worked for him the chance to recuperate.
However, he was back all too soon, and discovered that Periwig
had made no progress in his absence due to a policy dispute. He
asked me to explain why 'this bloody outfit took so long to reach a
decision' and was kind enough to supply the answer: 'It's because
SOE as a whole is the sum total of its farts - and they'd better not
start blowing in Periwig's direction.'
He was angry with me because although Periwig's vocabulary was
finished it couldn't be delivered to the printers as I was bogged down
with the code-groups. Although I'd convinced myself that an active
Resistance Movement existed in Germany because Tommy was in
prison there, I was equally convinced that the code-groups weren't
ready to stand up to expert scrutiny.
I was having the utmost difficulty in standing up to Templar's. He'd
begun calling on me on his way home to check the day's progress, and
seemed to enjoy watching me flounder while he made up for lost
sandwiches.
One night he caught me pencilling some code-groups on my copy
of the vocabulary.
'Finished at last?'
'Getting there, sir. I'm convinced the basic concept's right but I'm
trying to improve it . . .'
He gave his 'How long, 0 Lord' look, and I decided to ask him a
question.
'Sir, how sure are you that any of the code-books will be captured?'
566
'Leave that problem to me, and get on with yours.'
He was back the next night for a repeat performance, but this time
Gubbins came to collect him half an hour later.
Gubbins watched me in silence for as long as he could bear to
(roughly ten seconds), then shot a question at me a la Templar.
'What's your problem, Marks?'
'Verisimilitude, sir.'
'Give her my regards,' he said, and took Templar away with him.
An hour later I realized what the code-groups should be.
It took Muriel three hours to type them opposite the 6,000 phrases,
and the RAF unit half a day to photograph the now completed
code-book on to a single sheet of silk.
The moment I heard Templar marching down the corridor I buried
my head in my hands in mock despair.
'Now what's the holdup^
'You are, sir.' I pointed to the sheet of silk on my desk. '... it's
waiting for you.'
The way he picked it up, and stared at it in astonishment, was a
moment to relish.
'Good God! ... I'd no idea it would look like this.'
Neither had I till a few hours ago.
K
K-wird-zweimal-gefunkelt-und .............................................................................	2727
Kalkulationen-falsch-bitte-nochmals uberpriifen ..................................................	2736
Kampf-hat-sich-entspannt-zwischen-dem-Feind- ..................................................	2745
Kam-sur-Stelle-wie-abgemacht-fand-aber .............................................................	2754
Kann-Auftrag-nicht-ausfilhren-Umstande-walten-gegen .......................................	2763
Kann aushalten-bis ..............................................................................................	2772
4(ziffer) ...............................................................................................................	2781
Kann bestimmt-den-Auftrag-nachstes-mal-ausftihren ...........................................	2790
Kann gewiss-Widerstandsgruppe-n-organisieren ..................................................	2800
Kann keine-inneren-Kontakte-bekommen ............................................................	2819
5 (ziffer) ...............................................................................................................	2828
Kann nicht-mehr-lange-aushalten .........................................................................	2837
Kann Night Operation-durchfilhren-bis-Material-zu-Verfugung ...........................	2846
Kann Night weitgehendveroffentlichenwegenpolitischerVerwicklungsmoglichkeiten
..............................................................................	2855
Kann Operation-sofort-durchfuhren-wenn-Material ............................................	2864
8 (ziffer) ...............................................................................................................	2873
567
Kann mich-in-kurzer-Zeit-bis-nach-Gebeit beginne zu buchstabieren .................. 2882
900 und (ziffer) .................................................................................................... 2891
Kann vielleicht-nicht-bis-spater-kommen ............................................................. 2901
Karte-stimmt-im-grossen-ganzen .......................................................................... 2910
Kartenziffern-zerstummelt-bitte-weiderholen-und ................................................ 2929
Keine-Angriffversuche-unternehmen-bis-Einzelheiten-zur-Hand ........................... 2938
Keine Behalter-werden-vermisst-mit-Ausnahme-von ............................................ 2947
Keine Ergebuisse-hervorgebracht-wir-hoffen-aber ................................................ 2956
Kennwort-er-durch-feindliche-Tatigkeiten-kompromittiert .................................. 2965
Kerngruppe-befriedigend-aufgebaut-im-Gebiete-beginne zu buchstabieren .......... 2974
Kommt-oft-im-Gebiet-vor-wegen ......................................................................... 2938
Konnen-hier-gefalscht-werden-durch .................................................................... 2992
Konnte-der-Nachlassigkeit-zugeschrieben-werden ................................................ 3003
Kontakte-noch-nicht-gegluckt-und-werde ............................................................ 3012
Kompromittiert-durch-Tatigkeiten-von-GestapospitzeIn ...................................... 3021
Kontrolle-lasst-nach-wegen .................................................................................. 3030
14 (ziffer) ............................................................................................................. 3049
Konzentriert-bitte-vereinbart-wenn-so .................................................................. 3058
Korrektion-wie-folgt ............................................................................................ 3067
Kraftwagenpark-in-dieser-Gegend-ist-verwendbar ............................................... 3076
Krels-und-weisses-Kreuz-am-Kusten ..................................................................... 3085
Kummern-uns-nicht-um-die-Erhaltung-von .......................................................... 3094
He examined the code-groups for at least ftinf minuten, then looked
up at me and nodded his head like Commander Two Us.
I then asked him to look at the code-groups again, and see if he
noticed anything special about them.
He examined the ones printed under F, which I knew by now was
his favourite letter, then shook his head irritably. 'Come on, come
on! What am I missing?'
I explained that the sum of the first two figures was always the
same as the sum of the last two:
F
F-wird-zweimal-gefunkelt-und ................................................................................. 1551
Fabrik (en)-liefern ............................................................................................ 1560
Falschen-Annaherungsweg-gebraucht-kehre-nach-Stutzpunkt-zuruck ...................... 1579
'Lock at 1551, sir [F-wird-zweimal-gefunkelt] ... 1 and 5 come to 6,
and so do 5 and 1. Now look at 1560 ... 1 and 5 come to 6, so do 6
and 0. Now try 1579 ... 1 and 5 come to 6, and 7 and 9 come to 6.'
568
were imprisoned behind wire-netted compounds, some standing,
some sprawling, some kicking footballs.
We drove slowly down a long path between the compounds, and
I felt our progress being monitored every inch of the way. Although
it was impossible to tell which of them were soldiers and which wild
animals, I asked the driver to pull up, leapt out of the car and strode
towards one of the compounds. I'd spotted a powerfully built sixfooter
brandishing his fist in the face of a fellow-prisoner who wasn't
much bigger than me. I stared at him in silence as if trying to recall
where I'd seen him before, and continued to stare at him until I
caught a look of fear in his eyes.
I then made some rapid notes ('Hope the bastard wants to pee as
badly as I do'), took a final look at him and Templared back to my
anxious escort.
'Mr Marks, what in God's name were you up to?'
'I've always wanted to scare the shit out of a German soldier.'
Our stately progress continued until we reached a courtyard without
a German in sight, and we drew up outside a small office block.
Two more military policemen approached the car. Again my escort
produced his pass, and again one of them recognized him.
Five minutes later we were only a flight of stairs away from 'Operation
Fatal Accident'. As we reached the top of the stairs, my escort
confided that he knew Schiller, and that General Templar had told
him to introduce us, and then leave us alone.
I wondered what other instructions Templar had given him.
I caught my first glimpse of Schiller as he rose from behind a table
and greeted Wilson as if they were old friends meeting for a drink.
He had Tommy's stocky build but was at least ten years younger,
and I searched in vain for his 'double chin' (I needed every joke I
could think of).
Wilson introduced me as the coding officer but didn't refer to me
by name, and said he'd wait next door but there was absolutely no
hurry as he had plenty of work to catch up on. He then left us alone
in a small interview room which had bars across its solitary window,
and the indefinable smell of protracted interrogations.
Schiller remained standing until I was seated, then resumed his place
behind the table, and patiently waited for the proceedings to begin.
572
OPERATION PERIWIG
I immediately set about killing him by code.
Whoever had brie^d him previously had done a good job. He knew
how to use a code-b^°k, and studied the Periwig vocabulary with interest.
'So much on on^ piGce of Seide - silk - is excellent,' he said.
So was his English? and I had no difficulty in explaining the special
feature of the code's1"0"?5- ^e listened in silence until I'd finished,
then nodded appro^^Y-
I then produced a one-time pad and showed him how to use it,
though it soon heC3ime apparent that he could have shown me. I
stressed the import^ce of cutting away the code-groups after every
message and asked him to see ^or himself how easy it was. I then
handed him a pair °^ scissors, and watched him cut his own throat.
It was WOK-tim^ next an^lt seemed to come as a welcome surprise
to him. 'Makes it v^Y much Gasy,' he said.
I stressed that W^^'keys must also be destroyed message by message
and again asked him to try it for himself.
At this point a l31^ corporal appeared carrying tea and buns.
Schiller waited till I'd helped myself, but instead of sampling his
'elevenses' he picked "P the scissors and finished cutting away the
silk. I had some dif^c^ty in swallowing as I watched him, and he
seemed to sense it because he looked at me sharply.
I asked him to li^n very carefully to what I now had to tell him,
and he sat forward but continued to study me thoughtfully. I
explained the advai^S68 °^ one-time pads over WOKs and of both
over poem-codes ^hich must be used only in emergencies. Did he
know how the system worked?
He asked if it -v^s the same as using phrases from a novel (a
favourite C system); an(^ I confirmed that it was except for the indicator-groups
which I'd show him later. Was there any particular
poem that he'd like to use?
He said that ther6 was^ and I fold him to write it out for me. He
did so in block capias, and I then asked him to speak it aloud so
that I could compare k with what he'd written.
Like so many agei^ asked to repeat poems, he spoke it in block
capitals. The words meant little to me except that they weren't the
'Horst Wessel' and I again warned him that he must use them only
in emergencies.
573
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'The most important thing of all is your security checks . . .' I spent
ten minutes explaining them to him, but for the first time didn't have
it all my own way.
He wanted to change his indicator-groups by 8 and 5, and when
I asked why he said that 8 May was his birthday and the 5th his
mother's and he wouldn't forget either of them, but I pointed out
that many agents used this idea and that the Germans were on to it,
and he at once agreed to the figures I'd suggested.
I then produced three coded messages, and asked him to decipher
them. He began working as if his life depended on it.
I hoped that someone would engrave 8 May on his headstone,
though I doubted if he'd have one. He was having a hard time with
the task I'd set him as I'd mutilated the code-groups to make
decipherment more difficult, but he remembered what I'd shown
him and persevered until he proudly produced the correct cleartext.
The
LOP, WOK and poem-code messages gave him no trouble,
but at the end of them he sat back exhausted and poured himself
some tea.
I then instructed him to encode three messages (one in each system),
and to make sure that he inserted his security checks. Forty minutes
later he'd finished all three, and took a deep breath.
I checked each message carefully, and pointed out a small mistake.
He swore in German and apologized in English, an appropriate
arrangement.
We'd already spent more than two hours together, and I enquired
if he had any questions.
'Not about codes. But, sir ... do you know when I am intentioned
to go in?'
Sir explained that this wasn't his department, and Schiller appeared
to accept it. I added that I was leaving now but if he had any questions
after I'd gone I'd gladly come to see him again.
He looked at me with a smile not unlike Tommy's. 'You have
taken much trouble with me - very much trouble. And I am just as
much grateful.'
I'd intended at this point to wish him 'Hals and Beinbruch.', which
I thought was the equivalent of 'merde alors', but I'd discovered that
574
OPERATION PERIWIG
its literal meaning was 'good luck - break a leg'. So I held out my
hand, and wished him 'Viel Gluck' instead.
To my astonishment, I found that I meant it.
Templar was waiting for me in my office.
'Well? What did you make of him?'
'I'm sure he'll do a good job for both sides, sir.'
'Wilson tells me you did a bloody good one yourself. He was
listening in.'
I remembered Schiller's last question to me. 'He's anxious to know
when he's going to be sent in.'
'Have your bumph ready in two days at the latest. He'll be back
in his homeland by the end of the week.'
I dispatched the 'bumph' to X section and waited for Templar's
next visit, but he suddenly stopped calling on me.
I then learned from Heffer that he was leaving SOE. According to
the Guru, Montgomery had something else in mind for him and he'd
soon be taking off. 'Don't try to make sense of it, this is SOE,' he
said, and returned to his newspaper.
A week later I still hadn't heard from Templar and was wondering
whether to call and say goodbye or to wait for the official announcement
when in he walked.
I couldn't believe what I saw: he was carrying a small posy of
flowers, which he presented to me with great delicacy, and I wondered
what the hell he thought I was.
'These are for your mother. Tell her they're from you as they
bloody well should be.' He then insisted that Muriel took them away
and put them in water as they couldn't survive the whole day in my
stink-hole of an office. He then settled down to the less serious
business of Periwig.
'You'll be sorry to hear that your friend Schiller has met with a
fatal accident - they'll have found the codes on him by now so get
a move on with those dummy messages. But that's not what I'm here
to talk about.' I felt the singe of his number two glare. 'I suppose you
know that I'm leaving this place?' He didn't actually say stink-hole but
his expression conveyed it.
'Yes, sir.'
575
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'Of course you do! - damn stupid question. Barry is taking over,
and he'll be getting in touch with you. Help him all you can. You'll
find him a lot easier to deal with.'
I didn't comment.
'There are two questions I've been meaning to ask you but never
got round to ... But you're under no obligation to answer them, is
that understood?'
I was too touched by the flowers to do anything but nod.
'The first concerns Holland. I've heard many versions about what
went wrong there. I'd like to hear yours. You have my word it'll go
no further.'
That was good enough for me.
I began with Ebenezer's stip-step-stapping, explained the significance
of the total lack of coding mistakes and ended with Plan Giskes,
but made no reference to my battles with SOE as I felt he understood.
He thanked me for making things clear to him, and then said that
his other question was personal. 'But I repeat - you don't have to
answer it if you don't want to. - is that understood^'
I nodded.
'What made you become a cryptographer?'
I had a stock answer for this but it wasn't the moment for it. I
described how I'd broken 84's code at the age of eight, and he listened
with the hint of a smile while I synopsized the consequences.
He then quietly informed me that all his military books had come
from 84, and that he'd probably met my father. 'Short chap. Writes
very quickly ... a bloody good salesman.'
'That's Dad.'
'One of his oldest customers used to be a pal of mine. His name's
Clarence Hatry. Don't suppose you've heard of him.?'
I hoped for Periwig's sake that his other suppositions were better
founded.
I knew so much about Hatry that even in Templar's presence I
could think of little else . . .
Hatry was a financier who'd defrauded the City of London of two
million pounds, which in the early thirties was a significant achievement.
Most of his vast library had come from 84, and he walked
into the shop in the middle of a major slump, told Father that he
576
OPERATION PERIWIG
knew times were difficult, and apologized for having to ask him to
make an offer for his library.
Although books for which Dad had paid £1,000 would no longer
fetch £100, he knew Hatry needed to raise money for his trial at the
Old Bailey, and told him that he had 'a bit of good news for him'.
He was able to offer him a profit on his books - 'a small profit
mind you, but a profit'. Despite his partner's protestations he bought
Hatry's library for three times what it was worth but, being Dad, he
didn't leave it at that.
When Hatry was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment, he
contacted the prison governor (a fellow Freemason), and Hatry was
made the prison librarian. When he was finally released, he bought
a well-known bookshop, used it to raise capital for his other operations,
and made another million pounds . . .
'Yes, sir - I know a bit about Hatry.'
'He'd have done a damn good job for SOE - especially in the
finance department.' He glanced at his watch, and I wondered how
to say goodbye to him.
He had his own way of saying it to me. Reaching into his pocket,
he took out his fountain pen and carefully laid it on the Periwig
code-book. 'I caught you looking at this with more respect than
you've ever shown me. Hope you'll make better use of it than I do.'
I was at a loss for the words which I hoped the pen would one
day write.
He allowed me a moment to recover. 'I'll say this for you, Leo -
you've been a new experience - and I've had a few in my time, I can
tell you that.'
I stood up when he did. 'I've enjoyed every minute of it, sir.'
His final words echoed round the room. 'Stop playing games.'
He played a few himself in the years which followed: by the midsixties
he was Field Marshal Sir Gerald Templar, head of the Imperial
General Staff. His nickname amongst those who understood his
achievements in the war against Japan, and the one he most savoured,
was the 'Tiger of Malaya'.
To me he would always be Periwig.
I wrote the first draft of Peeping Tom with his fountain pen.
577
SEVENTY-EIGHT
Serial Number 47685
April's good news came first, and could hardly have been better. Hitler
had committed suicide, and Tommy had escaped from Buchenwald!
I knew the Fiihrer's destination but had no idea of Tommy's until
I learned from Colonel Dismore that though he'd been 'tortured
beyond belief and was barely able to walk', he'd reached the American
forces at Chemnitz, and was 'hell-bent' on making his way to Paris,
regardless of German patrols. He was too choked to say more.
I also learned that Violette Szabo had been executed at Ravensbruck,
and Noor Inayat Khan at Dachau.
Vera Atkins subsequently confirmed that neither girl had died
alone. Violette had knelt down, holding hands with Lilian Roife and
Denise Bloch, and been shot in the back of the head. Noor (perhaps
remembering her Jakarta Tales) had also knelt down, and Yolande
Beekman, Madeleine Damerment and Eliane Plewman had crossed
the bridge with her. Vera Leigh, Diana Rowden and Andree Borell
had been given lethal injections at Natzweiler, and Yvonne Rudellat
had been buried at Belsen.
The list of male agents who'd been executed was still coming in.
So were rumours that the war was 'on its last legs', and that SOE
must prepare for dismemberment. Unhappily for some of us, the latter
part of this rumour had no foundation.
Although our traffic had been reduced by 80 per cent, so had the
girls' vigilance, and I had to remind them that the code war hadn't
ended with Hitler's death, and that until the new German supremo,
Admiral Doenitz, had signed a promissory note called a peace treaty
none of them must relax. The admiral knew better than to keep them
waiting.
578
War-weary Baker Street, dispirited by the losses and aware of its
mistakes, was revitalized by the details of Tommy's survival which
began coming in.
Despite the torture he'd suffered at the hands of the Gestapo in
Paris, he'd maintained his cover-story that he was Squadron Leader
Dodkin, serial number 47685, and the Germans knew him as such
when he arrived at Buchenwald. He'd escaped from the camp by
convincing the German officer in charge of injecting prisoners with
typhus that if he allowed him and twenty-one other prisoners to
escape he'd testify on his behalf at his war-crimes trial. *
He'd been injected with a harmless liquid instead of the deadly
typhus, and was smuggled out of Buchenwald. He was then sent
to other camps, but on 16 April escaped from a train bound for
Czechoslovakia when it stopped to dispose of the 170 bodies to which
his own was about to be added.
When he finally reached Chemnitz (after being captured by a German
patrol, and escaping once again) he gave his American interrogators
details of all the German troops and battery locations which he'd
seen en route, and was disappointed that they wouldn't let him take
part in the mopping-up operations.
He set out for Paris in a car driven by two friends, and although
they were fired on by German patrols, with typical Tommy timing
he arrived there on WE Day.
But that wasn't all he'd achieved. Whilst still in the typhus block
expecting to be executed, he'd managed to smuggle three messages
out of the camp. Two were farewell letters to Barbara and Dismore,
the third was an official report which he'd enciphered in his Sea-horse
code with his security checks correct.
The report gave details of the experiments in bacteriological warfare
being carried out in Buchenwald, and stated that he and his
fellow-prisoners would try to secure records of them until the arrival
of airborne forces on or before the German capitulation. He asked
for the message to be acknowledged by iodoform 'du moineau au
lapin' and sent his love to Barbara.
* A promise which he honoured despite the opposition of the authorities as he'd given
the word of a British officer.
579
The report finally reached London via the Americans, by which
time he'd escaped.
On 8 May he flew back to England.
Colonel Dismore and Barbara were waiting on the runway. They'd
been warned about his appearance.
A few weeks later I was writing a report for Nick when I heard the
door open. Thinking it was Muriel, I didn't look up, and then became
aware that she'd been silent for far too long.
An old man was watching me from the doorway. I was about to
ask if he had an appointment, but realized in time that he'd never
needed one.
I knew that sixteen of Tommy's friends had been suspended from
hooks in the Buchenwald crematorium, and been killed by slow
strangulation. They were hanging from his eyes.
'Fuck 'em,' I said.
T did my best . . .' His voice was a quaver.
I shook hands with him in the time-honoured way -- by producing
the cigar which I'd been keeping in my desk.
His smile hadn't changed, though it seemed to hurt his lips. 'Haven't
smoked one for a while,' he said. 'Better keep it for the moment.'
I lent him my cigar-case.
'Hope the report I sent came out easily. The light wasn't too
good ...'
'It was up to your usual lousy standards.'
He refused my offer of refreshments as he couldn't stay long, then
asked how my parents were.
I told him they'd celebrated WE Day by going to the synagogue for
the first time in twenty years, but had forgotten most of the passwords.
'It happens to the best of us.' He glanced at the pile of codes on
the desk. 'Still at it, I see. Won't keep you now . . . just looked in to
say hello . . . I'll probably call in one night for a chat.'
'I'll be here.'
We shook hands in silence.
I waited until his footsteps had shuffled away, and was then violently
sick on behalf of mankind.
580
SEVENTY-NINE
For Services Rendered
By the end of June the code department had been reduced to a skeleton
staff and its head to a skeleton.
I'd made the mistake of trying to say goodbye to each girl individually,
and been dismembered in the process. I'd found it impossible to
thank them, and was astonished when some of them thanked me.
When the question of their decorations arose I suggested to Heffer
that they should all be made Dame Commanders of the British
Empire.
'They'll be lucky if they get MBEs. Prepare a list but limit it to
twelve.'
Before I could protest he said that honours for members of technical
departments like Signals were causing SOE problems. The difficulty
was that outstanding performers could hardly be given honours
higher than those awarded to their superior officers, and that to save
embarrassment decorations would be awarded according to rank. He
added that it was just possible that one day the question of an honour
for me might arise.
I assured him that in that unlikely event there'd be no problem as
I'd accept no honour higher than the ones SOE gave the girls. 'Just
think what that would make me. I'd be the first male Dame Commander
of the British Empire.'
Although I'd have loved to enable my parents to dangle a bit of
ribbon in front of the neighbours who'd sent their only child white
feathers, I'd already been given the chance to shake hands with
agents who'd returned from the field, and no other reward was
comparable.
A month later Churchill was ousted as Prime Minister in the July
581
elections and was replaced by Attlee. Nick (a Conservative in everything
but Signals) was appalled that the man who'd ordered us to
'Set Europe Ablaze' had himself been extinguished.
Perhaps he identified with him, because he picked up a piece of
paper which he'd kept on his desk for the past two months. It was
a copy of a message which Eisenhower had sent to Gubbins when
SFHQ in France was about to be dispersed. The message praised
SOE's 'high achievements' in the battle against Germany, and
included a phrase which most of us in Signals knew by heart: 'Particular
credit must be due to those responsible for communications with
the occupied territories.'
Glancing at the face of the man who most deserved the praise, I
wondered what Nick's future would be when SOE closed down.
On 5 August the Americans announced that they'd dropped an
atomic bomb on Japan.
On the 9th they dropped another, and a few hours later Heffer
dropped one on me.
He said that Japan was certain to surrender within the next few
weeks, and that SOE would be disbanded by the end of the year. He
then disclosed in confidence that Gambier-Parry (head of C's Signals)
had asked Nick to find out whether I'd be prepared to work for C
as soon as my present job was over.
I'd sooner go to Hiroshima and my expression must have shown
it.
'I'm telling you this now to give you a chance to think it over
before Nick puts it to you officially.' He added that at least a dozen
senior SOE officers had been invited to join C, and that most of them
had agreed.
'Merde alors to the lot of them. I never want to see another code
when SOE packs up, but thanks for the warning.' I hurried from his
office.
I knew the pressure the bastards were capable of exerting; I had
to leave SOE as quickly as I could.
But I had one major job to do before SOE would release me:
Gubbins required all department heads to write comprehensive
reports of their department's activities. The code department's would
be a massive task which would take me several weeks to complete,
582
FOR SERVICES RENDERED
and I hadn't even begun. I told Muriel I wanted no calls or interruptions
and tried to settle down to it.
An hour later a catastrophe occurred. I thought of a code which
would be suitable for agents in peacetime.
The idea was so novel that I wanted to rush in to Nick with it,
but I realized just in time that it might interest C. I also realized that
it might be useful to our enemies in peacetime, if we had any apart from ourselves.
The purpose of the code was to enable agents to communicate
freely with each other in any language they chose, even though they
didn't speak a single word of it. Suppose two German agents were
working in England, and their sole means of communicating with
each other was by post. They could write to each other in English,
though neither understood a word of it, and every letter they
exchanged would contain a secret message of one-time pad security.
They would first write out their secret messages in German, using
figure one-time pads and code-books. They then had to turn these
figures into colloquial English, of which they understood 'Nichts'. To
achieve this they would refer to a sheet of silk which had English
phrases printed opposite every number.
Suppose the first number to be concealed were 9: he'd copy out
the phrase opposite 9.
0 You'll be glad to know
1 I hope you'll be glad to know
2 You'll be happy to know
3 You'll be very happy to know
4 You'll be pleased to hear
5 You'll be very pleased to hear
6 I'm glad to tell you
7 I'm very glad to tell you
8 I'm delighted to tell you
9 I can't wait to tell you
His letter would therefore begin: 'I can't wait to tell you'.
Suppose the second figure to be encoded were 0. He'd refer to the
next column of his silk, and copy out the phrase opposite 0.
583
0 that after all this time
1 that after such a long time
2 that after all this while
3 that after all this delay
4 that at last
5 that at long last
6 that finally
7 that in God's good time
8 that eventually
9 that despite the difficulties
His letter would therefore begin: 'I can't wait to tell you that after
all this time', and he'd continue to chat away about what had happened
for as long as the code-groups demanded.
His correspondent's reply must appear to answer this letter. Suppose
the first number to be concealed were 5: he'd copy out the phrase
opposite 5.
0 Of course I'm glad
1 Of course I'm pleased
2 Naturally I'm glad
3 Naturally I'm pleased
4 I'm glad to hear
5 I'm damn glad to hear
6 I'm delighted to hear
7 I'm relieved to hear
8 I'm thrilled to hear
9 I'm happy to hear
His letter would therefore begin: 'I'm damn glad to hear'.
Suppose the next figure to be concealed were 1:
0 that after trying so hard
1 that after all your efforts
2 that after trying for so long
3 that after trying so hard for so long
4 that you've finally managed to
584
5 that you've at last managed to
6 that you're now able to
7 that you're finally able to
8 that you've at last managed to
9 that you've finally be able to
His letter would therefore begin: 'I'm damn glad to hear that after
all your efforts', and would continue to use as many phrases as he
needed (they'd all make sense).
The basic idea could be put to other uses, but I did my best to
abort them and tried to start my report. But I was stuck for an opening
(a good phrase for a letter?) because 'other uses' kept cropping up,
and I made no progress whatever.
On 15 August Japan surrendered and SOE's closure was now a
certainty.
I was more determined than ever not to surrender to C but was
still only on page one of my report.
I was struggling to abort yet another use for the code when Nick
summoned me to his office. He'd recovered from his depression, and
asked how the report was progressing.
'I'm halfway through it, sir.'
'Good man - the general's anxious to read it.'
He then reminded me that Gubbins wanted me to write a separate
report on Holland, which I was to deliver to him personally; no copies
must be taken.
'I've already warned Muriel, sir.'
I noticed that Elsenhower's letter was still on his desk, and looked
up to find him watching me. 'You've invented a new code, haven't
you?'
I was too astonished to answer.
'If I don't know the symptoms by now, I'm in the wrong job. What
sort of code? Who's it intended for?'
'Whoever empties our waste-paper baskets.' I added that it was
just a vague idea which would be of no practical use to anyone but
had helped with the tedium of the report.
He glared at me in disbelief and immediately asked if I'd considered
C's offer.
585
So he knows Heffer's already discussed it with me.
I gave him much the same answer as I had the Guru and he looked
at me just as impatiently. 'We'll come back to that later. Heffer's told
you that we're closing down at the end of December?'
'Yes, sir.
Well, there's been a development you should know about.' Obviously
hating every word of it, he said that all SOE's records were to
be taken over by C.
'But that's like burying Hitler in Westminster Abbey.'
'There's not a damn thing we can do about it.' He then said that
both parties had agreed that the hand-over could only succeed if
various members of the country sections and the Signals directorate
stayed behind to take part in it. 'The Signal records are essential to
the hand-over. I don't need to tell you that the code department's
are the largest of all, and by far the most important.'
Nor did he need to tell me what was coming next.
'. .. in other words, Leo, General Gubbins and I want you to
supervise the handing over of all the coding records, and all cipher
traffic. It might take you three months. How about it?'
'I don't have three months, Nick.' I wanted to add that I sometimes
felt that I didn't have three minutes.
T suppose you realize that most of us in SOE will be muzzled for
the rest of our lives, and that those records will be all that remain of
us? Doesn't that matter a damn to you?'
A frothing brigadier is a terrifying sight.
'As for not wanting to see another code when SOE packs up, don't
you realize that Britain will soon be on its own again?. . . that Russia's
the new menace, and will be for years? . . . that the Americans are
behaving appallingly in Siam, and are no longer the allies they were?'
Neither was Nick.
'We'll need a first-class Intelligence service to keep us in the running,
and the whole of our traffic will have to be rethought ... Who's
going to help us with it - the Russians? - the Americans? - General
de Gaulle's lot? Hasn't it occurred to you that peacetime agents will
need new codes and security checks and as much training as ours?
Don't you realize that many of Bletchley's best cryptographers will
go back to their old occupations? You're too young to have had one
586
so you've no excuses unless you're too tired to think straight. Just
tell me this: doesn't any part of the code war interest you any more?'
I owed him the truth. 'Yes, sir. How to put it behind me.'
His voice took on a new edge. 'Then finish this report, and get on
with whatever's more important to you than helping your country.'
Our double-act was now over and I felt more alone than the British.
587
EIGHTY
Exemplary Conduct
The main problem with finishing the report was knowing what to
exclude, and I had to make a major decision. Gubbins had stressed
that nothing must be glossed over, and I had to choose whether or
not to make a disclosure which I hadn't dared to make previously
for fear of instant dismissal. I now decided that I would because it
might hasten my departure.
It concerned the 'War Diary', and the way that certain people in
SOE (myself in particular) had wilfully misled it.
It was known throughout Baker Street as the 'war diarrhoea', and
its far from natural function was to provide Gubbins and the Executive
Council with a synopsis of every message to and from the field so that they could absorb our daily traffic at a glance and historians
would have a reliable record of our main activities - a laudable
enough concept were it not for one thing.
Much of the traffic which passed between the agents and the
country sections (and between the agents and Signals) was in shorthand,
and when our Pepyses tried to paraphrase it for Gubbins and
posterity they often missed the all-important subtexts.
One of the busiest members of the War Diary was Lionel Hale, a
drama critic on the News Chronicle, who'd bought most of his theatrical
books from 84 but was otherwise intelligent. Hale had represented
SOE on a Top Secret committee which specialized in disseminating
propaganda in neutral territories, and was considered one of SOE's
star performers. But someone in Baker Street must have decided that
his ability to sum up complicated plot-points for the News Chronicle would be a help to the War Diary, and for a brief period in '43 he
was seconded to it.
588
EXEMPLARY CONDUCT
For most of us it wasn't brief enough.
Used to double-entendres, he quickly realized that much of the
traffic contained messages within messages, but instead of telephoning
his queries to people like Buckmaster and me (as his more considerate
colleagues did), he insisted on bringing them to us personally, and
soon became the most lied-to officer in Baker Street, with the possible
exception of the head of Finance. Although we told him the truth if
it didn't lead to further questions, our preparations for D-Day had
to be given slightly greater priority, and we often fobbed him off with
whatever explanations would get rid of him most quickly.
To ensure that he left my office with something worth having, I
arranged for him to be given a discount at 84. But the idea of making
special use of him didn't occur to me until he was rash enough to
confide that he often wrote reports on his various visits which he
passed on to Gubbins and the Executive Council if he thought they'd
be of interest.
I fabricated a series of 'Highly Confidential' reports, ostensibly
from me to Heffer, and pretended to be immersed in them whenever
he arrived. When he finally enquired what they were, I informed him
that they were part of my own 'War Diary', and he immediately
asked if he could look at them.
Each report falsified our reserves of silk codes, understating the
stocks in hand, overstating the demands for them, and presented him
with a picture of a cipher Dunkirk. One of them regretted to inform
Heffer that unless our production facilities were increased, no more
silks could be sent to the Middle East, and their agents would have
to revert to using novels.
Once a reporter, always a reporter . . . within a week of showing
him these reports, the code department received unsolicited offers of
help from the head of Personnel and the director of Finance, and we
won twenty more coders, a dozen more briefing officers, and a new
firm of printers. It was a great loss to the code department when he
left SOE to resume his old duties.
Our misrepresentations to the War Diary (which certain professional
historians would one day take literally in their erudite treatises)
were then scaled down.
By the end of November my report was almost finished except for
589
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
'the coding habits of agents which never would be', (every one of
them deserved a mention). I'd limited my selection to twenty, and it
included Patrick Leigh-Fermor (who'd kidnapped a German general
but couldn't transpose). Nancy Wake (who'd used a pornographic
poem which she'd made even more pornographic by her habit of
misspelling it), Brian Stonehouse (a painter who'd brilliantly depicted
his fellow-prisoners at three concentration camps, but whose previous
indecipherables were even greater works of art) and Yvonne Cormeau
code-named Annette, (who'd sent over 400 messages without a single
mistake, possibly because I hadn't briefed her). Nor could I resist
recording that at Major O'Reilly's instigation 84 Charing Cross Road
had been used to give agents practice in picking up messages concealed
in books when I was sent for by Nick, who warned me that within
the next two weeks military vans would call at night to start collecting
whatever records were ready to be handed over, and he hoped that
some of mine were.
I assured him that large numbers of files I no longer needed had
already been crated up, and he looked at me as if he were about to be
crated up himself. 'I'd like to understand your new code before I leave.'
I couldn't resist this and blurted out the whole concept.
A whispered 'Good God' was followed by the longest silence which
had ever passed between us. 'You do realize its value in peacetime?'
'It needs a lot of work, Nick.'
'And it bloody well deserves it. I'm going to talk to C.'
'I'm not going to be pressured into working for them.'
'That won't stop me from trying.' He snatched up the receiver, and
asked to be put through to Gambier-Parry (C's head of Signals).
I hurried away to finish my report.
The following morning Nick walked in followed by Gambier-Parry
and a captain whose name turned out to be Johnson.
I'd met Gambier-Parry nine months ago when he'd asked to examine
the codes we were using, and I'd greeted him with a particularly
hard handshake for wishing the poem-code on us.
This time he was prepared for it and, after rapidly disengaging,
took a quick look round the office. 'I see your desk hasn't got any
tidier.' He inspected its contents as if they already belonged to him.
590
EXEMPLARY CONDUCT
'I want you to show the brigadier how the new code works,' said
Nick.
Ten minutes later Gambier-Parry stared incredulously at Nick, then
glanced at Captain Johnson, who'd been listening intently.
Johnson asked a number of perceptive questions, and I pretended
that I didn't yet know the answers.
Gambier-Parry looked at me sharply. 'How long will it take you
to find 'em?'
'Three months at least, sir ... and then I mightn't succeed.'
'Let's find out, shall we? Come to C for as long as it takes, and
you can help us sort out your coding records. Then we'll talk about
other things. I'll fix up the details with Nick.'
He took for granted that his offer was accepted, and five minutes
later they left.
Two days after their visit Heffer walked in and showed me a report
from Bletchley which Nick wanted me to see. The report stated that
it was a 'novel, ingenious and highly secure code', which apart from
its obvious uses would allow agents to use radio telephony in complete
safety, and had similar potential for amateur wireless operators. It
would also provide a valuable means of communicating with agents
via the BBC, and would replace the extremely weak system of using
secret inks for letter communications.
'That shows how wrong even Bletchley can be . . .'
'What have you decided to do about it?'
I told him that before I retired at Xmas I'd hand over a blueprint
of the code to Gambier-Parry and leave it to some other cryptographer
to finish.
My response didn't seem to surprise him but the length of his puff
warned me that something else was worrying him.
'Something's wrong, Heff. What is it?'
Several puffs later he admitted that it was personal. He said that
his job in SOE was virtually over, and that he hadn't much to do
for the next few months. Trying to make light of it, he told me that
he'd been 'quite interested in doing a stint for C', though he hadn't
yet been asked.
I realized that the Guru was trying to tell me that he was facing
unemployment.
591
Twenty minutes later I was alone with Nick. I told him that I'd
decided to accept Gambier-Parry's offer on two conditions: one was
the length of my engagement, which must be limited to three months;
the other concerned Heffer.
I explained that I'd be too busy with the new code to spend much
time sorting out the records and that Heffer would be the ideal person
to help me. He could supervise the rest of the Signals handover, and
we might even be able to write a joint report on it.
'That's an excellent idea if you think he'd do it.'
'I feel sure he would.'
'I'll talk to Gambier-Parry at once.' He snatched up the telephone.
It occurred to me after I'd left that he wasn't as surprised as he
might have been, and I wondered if there'd been a spot of collusion
between him and the Guru.
Two days later he was 'delighted to be able to tell me' that Heff's
appointment had been confirmed.
I subsequently learned that it had been settled weeks ago. For
reasons which eluded me I loved them all the more for it.
SOE's records had taken far longer to collect than expected, and by
Xmas the vans were still drawing up, which gave me time to fill my
own mental vans with every important conversation I'd had since
joining SOE.
My reports had been finished weeks ago (or as finished as they
ever could be). The main one was 300 pages long; the separate report
on Holland fifteen (Plan Giskes had been fully documented, and was
added as an appendix). I'd delivered my Dutch report to Gubbins
personally, but hadn't heard from him since. Perhaps it was because
I'd also written an unsolicited paper called 'Ciphers, Signals and Sex'.
This was Dr Sigmund Marks's attempt to borrow Freud's theories
on the unconscious 'will to self-destruct' to explain why agents failed
to bury their parachutes (a foetal symbol), destroy their silk codes,
or take elementary precautions to avoid capture. I also borrowed his
more salacious theories to explain certain aspects of the girls' conduct
but needed no help from him to explain their periods.
I then learned that Gubbins had a great deal more on his mind
than starting reading reports. According to the grapevine, he'd been
592
EXEMPLARY CONDUCT
officially informed that when his present job ended the War Office
would have no further use for him.
I asked Heffer why SOE's brilliant, brave, bloody-minded CD had
been dismissed like a redundant doorman.
According to the Guru, Gubbins had put a strongly worded case
to the Chiefs of Staff and others for the nucleus of an SOE-type
organization to continue in peacetime under the auspices of C, but
C had responded by convincing all concerned that Gubbins should
have no part in it.
I slid morosely into 1946, knowing that I was about to start
working for an organization which had no respect for the Mighty
Atom.
C had been kind enough to tell me my new workshop's address. It
was at the top end of Curzon Street, an area frequented by London's
more professional tarts. The terms of my engagement with C had
also been settled. They'd agreed to continue paying me my present
salary of £45.15s.Sd. (gross) per month. They'd also agreed that one
member of my present staff could accompany me to Curzon Street,
presumably to ward off the tarts.
Much as I wanted Muriel to come, the closure of SOE seemed the
least painful break-point for both of us. I chose instead a FANY
named Elizabeth Vaughan, a highly intelligent coder with a sense of
humour she was likely to need.
Just as we were ready to leave Baker Street, SOE produced its last
surprise.
Mindful, perhaps, of Churchill's injunction to 'Set Europe Ablaze',
on 17 January parts of Michael House went up in flames, and though
'immediate action was taken' to put them out, many important
records were destroyed. A FANY corporal named Barbara Hare was
injured in the fire and had to be taken to St Mary's Hospital.
I'd worked too long for SOE to believe it was accidental, and
wished the arsonist had chosen Montagu Mansions. Signals officers
were used to getting their fingers burnt.
It was time to say goodbye to Nick.
His appointment had ended and the use of his office was a courtesy,
593
but he was unlikely to need another as the army had finished with
him just as it had with Gubbins.
I handed him a small parcel which Father had insisted on wrapping
himself when he understood its purpose.
Nick unwrapped it just as carefully.
It contained a book with no indication of its contents (I'd left its
catalogued description inside the cover with its price deleted). The
first page contained two signatures: George V's and Queen Mary's.
It was an autograph-book which had belonged to Kitty Bonar Law,
the eight-year-old daughter of the then Prime Minister. Kitty had
refused to go to bed until she'd trotted downstairs in her nightdress
to collect the autographs of her father's distinguished visitors (they
had to be in those days to gain admission to Number 10). Her collection
included an original line of music from Paderewski, a self-portrait
from H. G. Wells, and a goodwill message from Winston and Clementine
Churchill. She'd also obtained messages from dozens of leading
statesmen, as well as the signatures of British MPs who could write.
On the last page I'd affixed a letter from Nick to me ('From D/
SIGS to D/YCM'), which he'd signed in green ink. It was dated
February '43, and authorized me to proceed at once with the production
of silk codes.
I'd pinned a note to it which I'd written with Templar's pen. It
was 'From D/YCM to D/SIGS', and thanked him on SOE's behalf
for 'the most valuable signature of all which is yours'.
He returned to page one, and went through the whole book again
as if unable to believe that it belonged to him.
He was still looking at it when I quietly left the room.
The next morning I dipped into my £45.16s.8d. (gross) per month
and took a taxi to Curzon Street. But it wasn't my lucky day. The
driver knew a quick cut.
I spent several minutes watching the tarts arriving for earlymorning
duty and thought I recognized Doris, but searched in vain
for her dog.
It was time to go in.
594
EIGHTY-ONE
The Last Mischief
'Vengeance is mine' saith the Lord, and it soon became apparent to
SOE's expatriates that someone in C had read the Bible.
None of us expected a civic reception but we were quite unprepared
for the torture which was about to be inflicted on us in the name of
security.
The moment we arrived at Curzon Street House we were incarcerated
in the noxious bowels of a sub-basement where it was as difficult
to breathe as to think, and where we were visited once a day by
a doctor, though he was himself asphyxiated by the end of his
rounds.
My assistant Liza Vaughan had a turkish bath next to mine, and
Ann Turner (who had sole charge of SOE's WT records) had an
office within choking distance. Heffer didn't need one as he only
looked in twice a week 'to see how things were going', and promptly
went with them. We rarely saw our country section colleagues but
could hear them coughing in the corridor, a reasonable indication
that they were still alive.
We were forced to accept that we'd walked out of the fire and into
the frying pan, yet there was one compensation.
The sub-basement we occupied had been used by the War Cabinet
to protect them from the worst bombing, and at least twice a day I
had the privilege of peeing into a toilet once used by Churchill. I put
out my cigar on these occasions as its fumes would have spread
throughout the building. Heffer, an expert in such matters, said that
an early-morning fart in Curzon Street House would be wafted back
to its owner by the end of the day.
In deference to his judgement I christened the new code
595
'Windswept'. An astute colonel named Maltby (who was GambierParry's
Heffer) often looked in to examine its progress, and professed
himself 'delighted with it'. Which was more than I was.
Although I was convinced by now that there would never be lasting
peace as long as governments used codes, I'd devised one which would allow ambassadors to communicate their good intentions en clair whilst concealing their real ones with a little help from Windswept.
Perhaps I'd finally learned the meaning of SOEmindedness.
On 12 February Heffer called in, though he'd already done his two
days' stint. 'You might like to see this,' he said.
He held out a copy of the London Gazette and pointed to a brief
announcement: 'The King has been graciously pleased to award the
George Cross to Acting Wing Commander Forest Frederick YeoThomas,
ME (89215), Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve.' (The
French had their own way of saying 'Merci, Tommee'. They subsequently
named a street in Paris 'La rue YeoThomas'.)
I pinned the announcement to the wall to give the room its only
natural light, and six weeks later Windswept was finished. Although
I'd refused Gambier-Parry's and Maltby's offers to continue in C in
whatever capacity suited me best, they'd allowed me the privilege of
signing off in their Broadway HQ instead of the building at the top
of St James's Street where the ritual normally took place.
I noticed that the door of the code room was kept tightly closed
throughout but Gambler-Parry and Maltby were there to shake
hands, and Maltby saw me off the premises.
My code war was over, and I stood in the fresh air with nowhere
to go.
Twenty minutes later I found myself in Baker Street.
Montagu Mansions was in the hands of the agents, and had a to
let sign outside it. There was no one in sight, and the front door
was open.
I entered my old office. It was even barer than I felt. The walls had
been covered in off-white paint which matched my complexion, and
the room had been stripped by a demolition expert.
It was impossible to believe that 40 million code-groups had passed
through this nothing of a room, or that Tommy and Nick, Gubbins
596
and Templar had once paced up and down it. Or that this was where
I'd learned of the capture of Noor and Violette.
Wondering whether the new agents would suffer as much as ours
had, and how we'd managed to learn so little from so much, I felt
the sudden onset of a poem. Although I'd resolved not to write one
in peacetime (poems had killed too many agents), it demanded the
same rights of way as 'The Life That I Have'.
I had no paper but found a piece of chalk and wrote it on the wall
where the silks had once stood:
We listen round the clock
For a code called peacetime
But will it ever come
And shall we know it when it does
And break it once it's here
This code called peacetime.
Or is its message such
That it cannot be absorbed
Unless its text is daubed
In letters made of lives
From an alphabet of death
Each consonant a breath
Expired before its time.
Signalmaster, Signalmaster
Whose Commandments were in clear
Must you speak to us in code
Once peacetime is here?
I suddenly felt that someone was watching me, and turned round
slowly hoping it was Ruth.
A charlady was standing in a doorway with a mop in one hand, a
bucket in the other, and a cigarette dangling from her mouth. She
looked at me suspiciously. 'You from the agents?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said, 'I suppose I am ...'
She glared at the defacement on the wall.
597
I tried to erase it but had no rubber, and asked if I could borrow
her mop, which she reluctantly surrendered.
I took a last look round the room, and closed my eyes while I said
goodbye to it.
'Lost something?' she enquired.
'Yes,' I said, 'I suppose I have ...'
And walked out of her office to make what I could of a code called
peacetime.
598
Epilogue
Tommy died in 1964 without knowing that I was going to write this
book, which doesn't necessarily mean that he hasn't read it, and there
are certain facts he would expect me to disclose.
Ninety per cent of the WT records handed over to C in 1946 have
been destroyed, and the code department's records scarcely exist.
According to successive archivists (whose assurances I accept), 'intensive
efforts' have been made to find my 300-page cipher report, my
Dutch report and a long report on Belgium, but 'no trace can be
found of them'. Even the ditty-box has been 'mislaid', and there are
only two documents in the archive which are directly attributable to
me. The first is a lecture I'd given entitled 'Be Near Me When My
Light Is Low', and the other is my paper on 'Ciphers, Signals, and
Sex'.
To be fair to the Foreign Office, it has retained its sense of humour,
whatever else it may have lost, and I was informed by the then curator
that 'Ciphers, Signals and Sex' had been graced with a label 'to be
PRESERVED AS A DOCUMENT OF HISTORICAL IMPORTANCE', but
someone had crossed out 'historical' and written 'hysterical'. Having
re-read it, I agree with him.
A film was made about Violette Szabo called Carve Her Name
with Pride, and I allowed its producer, Daniel Angel, to use the
poem in his film providing that its author's name wasn't disclosed.
Thousands of letters poured in asking who'd written it and the Rank
Organization professed not to know but felt they should send me a
letter they'd received from the father of an eight-year-old boy.
He said that his son was desperately ill, and could someone please
answer the enclosed letter, which was written in code.
599
I tried to erase it but had no rubber, and asked if I could borrow
her mop, which she reluctantly surrendered.
I took a last look round the room, and closed my eyes while I said
goodbye to it.
'Lost something?' she enquired.
'Yes,' I said, 'I suppose I have . ..'
And walked out of her office to make what I could of a code called
peacetime.
598
Epilogue
Tommy died in 1964 without knowing that I was going to write this
book, which doesn't necessarily mean that he hasn't read it, and there
are certain facts he would expect me to disclose.
Ninety per cent of the WT records handed over to C in 1946 have
been destroyed, and the code department's records scarcely exist.
According to successive archivists (whose assurances I accept), 'intensive
efforts' have been made to find my 300-page cipher report, my
Dutch report and a long report on Belgium, but 'no trace can be
found of them'. Even the ditty-box has been 'mislaid', and there are
only two documents in the archive which are directly attributable to
me. The first is a lecture I'd given entitled 'Be Near Me When My
Light Is Low', and the other is my paper on 'Ciphers, Signals, and
Sex'.
To be fair to the Foreign Office, it has retained its sense of humour,
whatever else it may have lost, and I was informed by the then curator
that 'Ciphers, Signals and Sex' had been graced with a label 'to be
PRESERVED AS A DOCUMENT OF HISTORICAL IMPORTANCE', but
someone had crossed out 'historical' and written 'hysterical'. Having
re-read it, I agree with him.
A film was made about Violette Szabo called Carve Her Name
with Pride, and I allowed its producer, Daniel Angel, to use the
poem in his film providing that its author's name wasn't disclosed.
Thousands of letters poured in asking who'd written it and the Rank
Organization professed not to know but felt they should send me a
letter they'd received from the father of an eight-year-old boy.
He said that his son was desperately ill, and could someone please
answer the enclosed letter, which was written in code.
599
I managed to break his baby code, and the clear-text read: 'Dear
code-master. She was very brave. Please how does the poem work.
I'm going to be a spy when I grow up.'
I replied to him in his code (this was essential), saying that as soon
as he was better of course I'd show him how it worked. And as soon
as he was better he might like to come to the Special Forces Club
and meet some of the other agents he might have read about. In the
meantime I was sending him a chess-set which Violette once gave me
because I knew that she'd like him to have it.
Six weeks later I received a letter from his father saying that his
son had rallied for a month, and had died with the chess-set and the
poem on his bed.
In 1949 the Dutch government instituted a Commission of Inquiry
to establish the truth about Holland. It was particularly anxious to
discover whether the disasters had been caused by a traitor in SOE
or whether Dutch lives had deliberately been sacrificed as part of a
British deception scheme (a theory as prevalent then as it is today).
The tribunal sat for almost a year and, as a gesture of goodwill,
and to avoid any suggestion of a cover-up, the Foreign Office gave
its chairman a list of SOE officers, from Gubbins downwards, who'd
been 'responsible' for the conduct of clandestine operations in the
Netherlands, and suggested that he should invite them to have frank
discussions with him.
Every one of them, including Gubbins, agreed to meet him, and
their conversations took place between 3 and 10 October.
It is doubtful whether a single participant in these 'frank discussions'
could have shown the chairman how to break an indecipherable,
or assess the significance of a total lack of them.
No member of the Signals directorate was invited to attend, though
Nick and I were available at the time.
It is possible that we'd have had something useful to contribute.
600
APPENDIX ONE
Fingerprinting
W.T. Operators
A W.T. operator's touch on the keyboard was as individual as a
fingerprint. This didn't deter the enemy's radio experts from trying
to simulate it, and from the summer of '43 until S.O.E. stopped
passing traffic, detailed recordings were made of every operator's 'fist'
before he or she left for the field.
Method. The operators were instructed to transmit every letter of
the alphabet at varying speeds, followed by every numeral, but were
given no warning that they were being 'fingerprinted' to avoid selfconscious
transmissions. Their dots, dashes and morse hesitations
were then transferred to a paper tape which moved at 16 feet per
minute. This magnified even the smallest morse dots by quarter of
an inch, allowing an in-depth study to be made of every operator's
style. The details were recorded on square-ruled paper, and lodged
with the Chief Signalmasters at the W.T. stations. When the operators
reached the field, their 'fists' varied from message to message,
responding to the tensions of the moment, but the basic characteristics
were always present. Yet the Signalmasters needed no 'fingerprinting'
charts to identify these characteristics: their morse-trained ears were
attuned to every nuance of an operator's touch, and they recognised
it at once. The Funk-Horchdienst (the German interception service)
was equally adept. Its radio experts were able to counterfeit our
operators' style to perfection if a sufficient number of messages had
been intercepted.
The only real value of 'fingerprinting' was that it gave the operators
confidence -- which in itself was priceless. The concept of 'fingerprinting'
had been brought to Nick's attention by a fair-haired WAAF
Officer named Kay Cameron whose father had invented it. Nick
601
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
immediately took her into S.O.E. as she was otherwise homeless.
Determined that she should be based in London and posted to the
stations only when necessary, he seconded her to the code-department
and asked me 'to keep an eye on her'. As a contra-account (not that
I needed one) he authorised me to head-hunt young Captain Appleby,
a camouflage expert from the Thatched Barn who was a genius at
devising new hiding places for WOKs and LOPs.
Shortage of space meant that Kay and Appleby had to share an
office. They also shared an urge to help agents and each other in
every way they could, and their enthusiasm for their near-impossible
tasks turned their tiny office into a suite.
Those close to them sometimes wondered if they indulged in mutual
fingerprinting, and though this was a pointless speculation as they
were experts at camouflage, it allowed us to forget for a few moments
that the average life-expectancy of a W.T. operator in France was at
best six weeks.
602
APPENDIX TWO
Minute of 2 November 1943 from L. S. Marks, HQ
Security & Planning Office
Indecipherable Messages on Letter One-Time Pads
Owing to the very simple construction of the letter one-time pad code
it is most improbable that many indecipherable messages will be
received. However, when these indecipherables occur, the following
are the lines of attack which should be attempted.
Attempt No 1
Assume that the agent has written his message beneath his indicator
group. Consequently, all groups will have to be moved one group to
the left. If this does prove to be the case, in outward messages the
home station should also write beneath the indicator group. There
are two points to bear in mind however.
Firstly, if the agent sends a series of messages correctly, and then
suddenly makes a mistake by writing his message under the indicator
group, the home station should not follow suit, but assume that it is
an error on the part of the agent. If the agent sends his first message
with the clear text written beneath the indicator group, the home
station should reciprocate for his outward traffic until further notice.
Attempt No 2
The outstation may be confused over prefixes, therefore the second,
as well as the first group of the message should be eliminated. This
gives two attempts, i.e. eliminating the first two groups of the message
and writing the third group as it should be written underneath the
603
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
first group of the pad; and secondly, eliminating the first two groups
and writing the third group underneath the indicated group of the
one-time pad.
Attempt No 3
Should a message commence by reading sense, and suddenly breaks
off into gibberish, the first group from which the gibberish appears
should be moved immediately to the right, in case:
a. a group has been omitted in wireless transmission, and
b. the agent has slipped a group of his one-time pad when encoding
his message.
Attempt No 4
The Home Station should now try to assume that the agent has
written the message on top of the one-time pad groups instead of
beneath them. Therefore, in order to decode, they should take the
column of large capital letters on the extreme left of the substitution
square, and this column should be regarded as the letters of the
one-time pad. The small letters running along this line should be
regarded as the letters of the cipher message. Letters at the head of
the column in which the little letter stands must be regarded as the
en dair group. For example, assume that the one-time pad group is
ZVRBI, and that the agent has encoded the word 'house'. Write the
letters HOUSE above ZVRBI and the result is BIPJB.
To encode to agents who are making this error, the first pair of
letters for the home station to examine will be B over Z. They will
go to B in the column at the extreme left of their substitution square,
and glance along until they find the little letter Z. When they have
found Z, they must glance up and see in which column it stands.
They will find it to stand in column H.
The next pair of letters to examine will be I over V. They will go
to column I at the extreme left of their substitution square, and glance
along until they find little letter V. When they have found V, they
must glance up and see in which column it stands. It will be found
to be in column 0.
604
Take P over R, J over B, B over I in the same manner, and the
word HOUSE will be decoded.
Attempt No 5
It must be assumed now that the agent glances to the wrong side of
his substitution square when enciphering, i.e. he will always look to
the left of the capital letter instead of the right.
Attempt No 6
Assume that the agent, instead of taking the little letter as the cipher
group and the large letter as the en clair, reverses the process and
takes the little letter as the en clair group, and the large capital as
the cipher group.
Attempt No 7
In all cases where any great difficulty is experienced and the above
methods fail, the home station must concentrate on the end of the
message and try to work backwards, as it must never be forgotten
that an agent may be passing a message for someone else, and begin
by Playfairing without giving us any warning. Caution must be taken,
however, with the last group, which may consist of dead letters. The
penultimate group is really the key group at this stage of the attack.
Attempt No 8
When you find the agent's indicator, assume that all the onetime
pad groups he has used consist of the groups immediately beneath
this indicator group, i.e. in the same column instead of running along
the same parallel.
Attempt No 9
It must also be assumed that an agent may omit a line, start on the
wrong line, or use the same line twice. He may also use the wrong
page.
The breaking of this code will depend very greatly on individual
observation, as sometimes an agent will be merely a letter out, which
means a sliding along to the left of one letter instead of five.
The first attempt of all will therefore be a "fanning out" in both
605
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE
directions, firstly group by group, secondly letter by letter. If this
fails, the "fan" must consist of two letters on either side being left
out, then three, then four.
In extreme cases, it must be assumed that up to ten groups of the
pad may be omitted.
606
Index

Abor16,98,113,116, 117
Adams, Major 348
Admiralty 30
Air Ministry 311, 452, 453, 463, 474
Akkie 117-18, 123, 131, 146
Alanbrooke, Field Marshal Lord 155, 237,
277
Algiers 106, 402, 417, 526
Allied High Command 120, 407, 411, 513,
525, 528
Amery, Julian 85
Amies, Major Hardy 11, 12, 136, 507,
515
Ammonia 526-7
Amsterdam 123, 281, 353, 431, 513-14
Andringa, It, see Akkie
Angel, Daniel 599
Antelrne, France 509-11, 513
Anton 343
Apeldoorn 120
Archambault 325-6, 350, 493fn
Archiduc4712
Arendse, Peter, see Seakale
Arie 122
Arnhem 553, 561
Assen 120, 204
Astor, Capt. 458-60
Atkins, Vera 288, 498, 578
Attlee, Clement 449, 582
Austria 555
Badoglio, Marshal 358-9, 379, 383-4
Balkans 85, 453; directorate 397
Barbie, Klaus 329fn
Barren Mountain 43-4, 64, 91, 136
BBC 558, 591; and D-Day 486, 489, 516,
520,_525; Dutch broadcasts 123, 130,
205, 214, 231; French broadcasts 131;
'Now It Can Be Told' 140fn; personal
message concept 487; SOE liaison with
142; Tommy's messages 400, 480
Beaulieu200,30910
Bedell-Smith, Gen. 358
Bedford, Evan 153
Bedford Training School 2, 188, 197
Beekman, Yolande 578
Beetroot 119-20, 500
Begue, George, see Noble, Capt.
Belgium 146, 432, 447, 452, 500, 5046,
515; Belgian section 136, 303, 413, 507
Belgrade 85
Benny, Jack 367-8, 374-8
Beukema-toe-Water, Capt. 122
Bickenhall Mansions 176
Bingham, Capt. 202, 205, 280, and Boni
traffic 234-5; Dutch section deputy 101,
113; Dutch section head 274, 344; and
Kale's indecipherable 285, 289, 291;
leaves Dutch section 479; and new codes
303-5; and Operation Golf 177-8
Binney 42
Bletchley 252, 518-19, 545; and C 185,
246; recruitment 3-5, 197, 330;
transposition-keys produced by 196, 243,
245, 540; and Y 164
Blizzard, Major 11, 12, 101, 177-8, 239,
274,499fn
Bloch, Denise 474m, 578
Blossom, Tom 137, 138
Bodington, Nick 12-13, 74, 76, 339,
363-4, 466-7, 509
Bogaart, Peter, see Kohlrabi
Bollaert 461, 464, 465, 480
Bonar Law, Kitty 594

607
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE

Boni107, 11516,120,124,146,176,
186-7, 221, 276; interrupted transmission
279-82; and Plan Giskes 2036,
214-16, 225-7, 500; traffic analysed
99-101, 112-13, 230-1; Victory and
Vinus traffic 231-6
Borell, Andree 578
Bornholm 351-2
Boyle, Air Comm. 332, 410, 413
Brewis, Molly 145, 162, 287-9, 337
Bricklayer, see Antheime, F.
Broadbean 178-80, 205, 235, 282, 292,
342,353
Broccoli 343
Brook, Robin 285, 308, 385-8, 413, 546
Brooks, Tony 528
Brossolette, Pierre: capture 465, 4801;
death 484; indecipherable WOK 436, 445;
Operation Arquebus 136, 166-8, 242,
328; Operation Marie-Claire 365, 396,
399-400, 425; recall 284; Tommy and
461-2,464-8
Bruhn, Dr Carl 102-3
Brun, Prof. Jomar 172
Buchenwald 560, 578, 579-80
Buckmaster, Maurice: and Cammaerts 200;
and collapse of circuits 283, 299, 350,
454; F section head 10, 12, 17, 30, 126,
136,168,456,471,492,513,546;
German message to 520-1, 523; and
Moulin 327, 328; and new codes
299-301; and Noor 308-9, 320, 364,
399, 510; security breach 325-6; worries
over security checks 74-6;
Buizer, Cornelis, see Boni
Bukkens, Joseph 120
Burma 548
Butler circuit 520-1
Buxton, Major 142, 489
Byerley, Robert 510
Byrne, Major 275
C, see Secret Intelligence Service
Cabbage (Mik) 99, 107, 215, 216, 281
Cairo 85, 329, 353-4, 367-79, 381, 449,
453, 457,539
Cammaerts, Francis (Roger) 200-2, 243,
283, 308,547
Carte, see Girard, A.
Casey, William 503, 506
Cassis, Comm. 400-8
Castellano, Gen. 358
Catarrh 235, 281, 353
CD, see Hambro, Sir Charles
Chalk, Major Bill 368, 370, 372
Chalmers-Wright 530
Cheadle, It 4
Chiefs of Staff 43, 94, 147-8, 237-40, 277,
347-8,397, 407, 517
Chiltem Court 60, 61, 74, 77, 104, 172
Chive 430, 453, 479, 500
Christian, King of Denmark 102
Churchill, Peter: briefing 17, 126; capture
283-4, 350; in France 75, 76, 126,
186-7, 283; indecipherables 126, 207;
poem codes 66, 74, 190-1; return 243
Churchill, Winston 524; and de Gaulle 167,
402, 522, 523; and Denmark 102; and
Intelligence services 40, 147-8, 2378,
397, 519; and Norway 43, 94; ousted
581; and Tommy 462-3, 466, 484; and Y
163-4
Circonference 471-2
Cohen, Mark 152, 1545
Committee of National Liberation, Algiers
402
Committee on Allied Resistance 238
Conseil National de la Resistance 166, 385,
425
Copenhagen 103, 105, 454
Corbett,Bill3612,379
Cormeau, Annette 590
Courtauld, George 261, 267-73, 406,
460-1,555,557-9
Courtauld's 5578
Cricket 509, 513, 514-15
Crowley, Aleister 156
Cucumber 276, 282, 284-7, 337-40, 344,
353
Curzon Street House 593, 595
D-Day 237,402, 418, 4856,488,516,
520-1,525
Daks 511-13
Damerment, Madeleine 511, 578
Dansey, Capt. 71-2, 106, 113, 141, 149,
252, 255; and agents' traffic 12, 369;
Cairo trip 353-4, 356, 368, 370, 372;
and de Gaulle's code 21, 23; head of
Codes 6; interviews LM 6-8; and mainline
traffic 141; role in SOE 8, 10
Davies, Tommy 261, 267-73, 406, 4601,
555,55760
De Gaulle, Charles 517; and Arquebus
mission 39, 167-8, 284, 297; Churchill
and 167, 402, 522-3; command structure
of 384-5; Moulin and 327; Overlord
plans 407; re-entry into Paris 554, 555;

608
INDEX

and SOE 21-2, 167; Tommy and 297,
311, 365,484
De Haas, It, see Potato
Denman, Charlotte 145,166,1689,2879,
337, 384-5,387,390,466, 509
Denmark 102-5, 186, 434, 454; Danish
directorate 102, 104-5, 136, 303, 351;
Peenemunde 351-2, 397, Resistance 221,
243, 452; Secret Army 451; suspension of
operations 432, 452
Denniston, Cmdr 53845
De Wilde, Nicolas 343
Dismore, Col. 397, 466-7, 471, 474, 481,
578,580
Dobson, Major 479-80, 514-15
Dodd, Joan 91-4, 108, 110, 211, 247, 257,
260, 263
Dodds-Parker, Col. Douglas 84, 359, 361,
384
Dodkin, Squad. Ldr 474-5, 579
Doel, Frank 111, 153, 155
Doenitz, Admiral 578
Donovan, Gen. Bill 86, 148, 417
Doris 152, 158
Dorset Square 69, 456
Dourlein, Peter, see Sprout
Druot 70-1
Dubourdin 243
Dudley-Smith, Cmdr 196, 197, 245-53, 297
Duke Street, see Free French
Dutch Intelligence Service (MVD) 239
Ebenezer 98, 113, 115-22, 124, 146, 216,
235,276,281, 284, 292, 353, 500, 576
Eddy, Muriel 145, 166, 286, 332, 3656,
420, 457, 500, 593
Eden, Anthony 147, 237
Edwardes, Harry 157
84 Charing Cross Road, see Marks & Co
Eisenhower, Gen. 39, 359, 379, 383-4, 453,
517,582
EMFII (Etat-majeur des Forces Francaises)
546
Erica mission 122
Far East 522
Faro 51415
Field Auxiliary Nursing Yeomanry (FANYs)
12,19,37,94, 126, 136-40,188, 330,
418-23
Field-Robinson, Major 554
Foot, Michael 153
Forces Francaises de 1'Interieur (FFI) 403,
457
Foreign Office 330, 530, 599
Fortuyn, Cornelius 122
Frager, Henri 243
France 73; agents in trouble lo- ,.,1 -ttn
364, 454, 462, 465; BBC b."2"' j)u' D-Day plans 418; F section oadca s1 '
168, 283, 299-301, 309, 3."-'"- '^
454, 471, 510, 513, 546, 5^,, ' n-r \s -i.i-> -, .,, 'o; liberation
555; Maquis 242-3, 462; h ' ,
299-301, 325, 457; ProspJ* codes,
350, 399, 509; Resistance 3clrcult":>'
520,526,528, 546, 547-8 „ ' . '
„.„..,.,,.,, , _ i Secret Army
242, 462, 463; see also Fre,, p . '
Free Danish Council 104, 451 t're"c" Free French: Committee 327; tj „ „ ,
secret code 21-6, 30, 69-7^ "au "e s
363, 385, 385-96,405; DuL' ""I „„ ' 1-1 oi iro j e Street HQ
22, 81,168; dummy messag^ 490-1-
Moulinand327-8;newcod. ,„-, . ,,„., 417,426-7,471-2,522-3 es 402-4' 411'
Arquebus 39,136,148,159operatlon 218, 328; RF section 22, 29, ra'-,c 301-3, 386, 387, 397,400, w ,;, ' 465-6,480, 485, 546, 548; ,"0','" ; .
with 380, 384-8, 390-1; T^ s relatlons 461-3,474,480,485,522 "lmy and 29) Fresnes 491, 522
Freud, Sigmund 110-11, 157\
551-2,592 8,420,495,
Furze, Miss 330-1,420
Gambler-Parry, Brig. 40-1, l^g 10; r
582, 590-2, 596 ' 1-'- "'
Gammel, Brig. 37-8
Germany: agents in 554-5, 56i
cryptographers 321-2; heavy
production 43; rocket resea^'^B0-)
Operation Periwig 562, 564^ '
Gherkin 277-8, 280, 282, 28^
Gibraltar 81
Girard, Andre 76, 126
Giraud, Gen. 167, 402
The Girl Who Couldn't Quite i, „
Giskes, Herr 133, 143, 146, 2;)1'1 279-80, 285-6, 291-2, 34i',,.6.431,
500; see also Plan Gisk^' ' '
Glenconner, Lord 856
The Gold Bug (Poe) 151
Golf, see Operation Golf
Graveson, Cmdr (Gravy) 503, ^,_
Greece 73, 185, 397, 453
Greene, Graham 342
Grendon (Station 53) 12, 19-^ „
40, 107, 115-16,128,137,^ 369

609
BETWEEN SILK AND CYANIDE

Boni107, 115-16,120,124,146, 176,
186-7, 221, 276; interrupted transmission
279-82; and Plan Giskes 2036,
214-16, 225-7, 500; traffic analysed
99-101, 112-13, 230-1; Victory and
Vinus traffic 231-6
Borell, Andree 578
Bornholm 351-2
Boyle, Air Comm. 332, 410, 413
Brewis, Molly 145, 162, 287-9, 337
Bricklayer, see Antheime, F.
Broadbean 178-80, 205, 235, 282, 292,
342,353
Broccoli 343
Brook, Robin 285, 308, 385-8, 413, 546
Brooks, Tony 528
Brossolette, Pierre: capture 465, 4801;
death 484; indecipherable WOK 436, 445;
Operation Arquebus 136, 166-8, 242,
328; Operation Marie-Claire 365, 396,
399-400, 425; recall 284; Tommy and
461-2,464-8
Bruhn, Dr Carl 102-3
Brun, Prof. Jomar 172
Buchenwald 560, 578, 579-80
Buckmaster, Maurice: and Cammaerts 200;
and collapse of circuits 283, 299, 350,
454; F section head 10, 12, 17, 30, 126,
136,168,456,471,492,513,546;
German message to 520-1, 523; and
Moulin 327, 328; and new codes
299-301; and Noor 308-9, 320, 364,
399, 510; security breach 325-6; worries
over security checks 74-6;
Buizer, Cornelis, see Boni
Bukkens, Joseph 120
Burma 548
Butler circuit 520-1
Buxton, Major 142, 489
Byerley, Robert 510
Byrne, Major 275
C, see Secret Intelligence Service
Cabbage (Mik) 99, 107, 215, 216, 281
Cairo 85, 329, 353-4, 367-79, 381, 449,
453, 457,539
Cammaerts, Francis (Roger) 200-2, 243,
283, 308,547
Carte, see Girard, A.
Casey, William 503, 506
Cassis, Comm. 400-8
Castellano, Gen. 358
Catarrh 235, 281, 353
CD, see Hambro, Sir Charles
Chalk, Major Bill 368, 370, 372
Chalmers-Wright 530
Cheadle, It 4
Chiefs of Staff 43, 94, 147-8, 237-40, 277,
347-8,397, 407, 517
Chiltern Court 60, 61, 74, 77, 104, 172
Chive 430, 453, 479, 500
Christian, King of Denmark 102
Churchill, Peter: briefing 17, 126; capture
283-4, 350; in France 75, 76, 126,
186-7, 283; indecipherables 126, 207;
poem codes 66, 74, 190-1; return 243
Churchill, Winston 524; and de Gaulle 167,
402, 522, 523; and Denmark 102; and
Intelligence services 40, 147-8, 2378,
397, 519; and Norway 43, 94; ousted
581; and Tommy 462-3, 466, 484; and Y
163-4
Circonference 471-2
Cohen, Mark 152, 1545
Committee of National Liberation, Algiers
402
Committee on Allied Resistance 238
Conseil National de la Resistance 166, 385,
425
Copenhagen 103, 105, 454
Corbett, Bill 361-2, 379
Cormeau, Annette 590
Courtauld, George 261, 267-73, 406,
460-1,555,557-9
Courtauld's 5578
Cricket 509, 513, 514-15
Crowley, Aleister 156
Cucumber 276, 282, 284-7, 337-40, 344,
353
Curzon Street House 593, 595
D-Day 237,402, 418, 4856,488,516,
520-1,525
Daks 511-13
Damerment, Madeleine 511, 578
Dansey, Capt. 71-2, 106, 113, 141, 149,
252, 255; and agents' traffic 12, 369;
Cairo trip 353-4, 356, 368, 370, 372;
and de Gaulle's code 21, 23; head of
Codes 6; interviews LM 6-8; and mainline
traffic 141; role in SOE 8, 10
Davies, Tommy 261, 267-73, 406, 4601,
555,55760
De Gaulle, Charles 517; and Arquebus
mission 39, 167-8, 284, 297; Churchill
and 167, 402, 522-3; command structure
of 384-5; Moulin and 327; Overlord
plans 407; re-entry into Paris 554, 555;

608
and SOE 21-2, 167; Tommy and 297,
311, 365, 484
De Haas, It, see Potato
Denman, Charlotte 145,166,1689,2879,
337, 384-5,387, 390,466,509
Denmark 102-5, 186, 434, 454; Danish
directorate 102, 104-5, 136, 303, 351;
Peenemunde 351-2, 397; Resistance 221,
243, 452; Secret Army 451; suspension of
operations 432, 452
Denniston, Cmdr 53845
De Wilde, Nicolas 343
Dismore, Col. 397, 466-7, 471, 474, 481,
578,580
Dobson, Major 479-80, 514-15
Dodd, Joan 91-4, 108,110,211,247, 257,
260,263
Dodds-Parker, Col. Douglas 84, 359, 361,
384
Dodkin, Squad. Ldr 474-5, 579
Doel, Frank 111, 153, 155
Doenitz, Admiral 578
Donovan, Gen. Bill 86, 148, 417
Doris 152, 158
Dorset Square 69, 456
Dourlein, Peter, see Sprout
Druot 70-1
Dubourdin 243
Dudley-Smith, Cmdr 196, 197, 245-53, 297
Duke Street, see Free French
Dutch Intelligence Service (MVD) 239
Ebenezer 98, 113, 115-22, 124, 146, 216,
235, 276, 281, 284, 292, 353, 500,576
Eddy, Muriel 145, 166, 286, 332, 3656,
420, 457,500,593
Eden, Anthony 147, 237
Edwardes, Harry 157
84 Charing Cross Road, see Marks & Co
Elsenhower, Gen. 39, 359, 379, 383-4, 453,
517,582
EMFII (Etat-majeur des Forces Francaises)
546
Erica mission 122
Far East 522
Faro 51415
Field Auxiliary Nursing Yeomanry (FANYs)
12,19,37,94, 126, 136-40,188, 330,
418-23
Field-Robinson, Major 554
Foot, Michael 153
Forces Francaises de 1'Interieur (FFI) 403,
457
Foreign Office 330, 530, 599-600
Fortuyn, Cornelius 122
Frager, Henri 243
France 73; agents in trouble 187, 283, 350,
364, 454, 462, 465; BBC broadcasts 131;
D-Day plans 418; F section 17, 30, 76,
168, 283, 299301,309,320,325.399,
454, 471, 510, 513, 546, 548; liberation
555; Maquis 242-3, 462; new codes
299-301, 325, 457; Prosper circuit 325,
350, 399, 509; Resistance 327-8, 517,
520, 526, 528, 546, 547-8; Secret Army
242, 462, 463; see also Free French
Free Danish Council 104, 451
Free French: Committee 327; de Gaulle's
secret code 21-6, 30, 69-71, 301-3, 312,
363, 385, 385-96,405; Duke Street HQ
22, 81,168; dummy messages 4901;
Moulin and 327-8; new codes 4024,411,
417,426-7,471-2, 522-3; Operation
Arquebus 39,136,148,159,161,1669,
218, 328; RF section 22, 29, 69-71, 75,
301-3,386,387,397,400, 456, 463,
465-6,480,485, 546, 548; SOE's relations
with 380, 384-8, 390-1; Tommy and 29,
461-3,474,480,485,522
Fresnes 491, 522
Freud, Sigmund 110-11, 157-8, 420, 495,
5512,592
Furze, Miss 330-1, 420
Gambier-Parry, Brig. 40-1, 149, 1856,
582, 590-2, 596
Gammel, Brig. 37-8
Germany: agents in 554-5, 561;
cryptographers 321-2; heavy water
production 43; rocket research 3512;
Operation Periwig 562, 5645
Gherkin 277-8, 280, 282, 284
Gibraltar 81
Girard, Andre 76, 126
Giraud, Gen. 167, 402 The Girl Who Couldn't Quite 317-18
Giskes, Herr 133, 143, 146, 237, 276,
279-80, 285-6, 291-2, 342, 344, 423,
431, 500; see also Plan Giskes
Glenconner, Lord 856 The Gold Bug (Poe) 151
Golf, see Operation Golf
Gravesoii, Cmdr (Gravy) 503, 517-19
Greece 73, 185, 397, 453
Greene, Graham 342
Grendon (Station 53) 12, 19-20, 23, 378,
40, 107, 115-16,128, 137, 142, 369

609
Grouse, see Operation Grouse
Gubbins, Gen. Colin 129, 141, 147, 280,
326, 380-2, 396; broadcast with Marks
140fn; Cairo mission 406, 449, 453; as
CD 397,416, 456, 466, 528, 555, 5612,
567, 585; and Chiefs of Staff 238; and
closure of SOE 592-3; and Dutch section
217, 222-7, 335, 343, 345-7; and Kale's
indecipherable 285, 286, 291; and new
codes 184, 299, 346; office of 82, 83;
personality of 240; and Poles 529; and
SAS operation 525-6
Guyotville 106
Haaren prison 430, 454, 480
Haarlem 118
Hale, Lionel 588-9
Hambro, Sir Charles (CD) 141, 147, 148,
210, 385; and German agents 554; and
LM's coding report 184; and Grendon
199; LM's meetings with 27-8, 3802;
office 82; Park West flat 26, 380; recruits
of 267; resignation 397; Ruth's godfather
453
Hammer, Mogens 102-5, 136, 221, 243
Hanff, Helene 1, 153fn
Hansen, Duus 103, 186, 221, 351-2, 364-5
Hardanger Vidda 43, 44, 64, 91, 136, 219
Hare, Barbara 593
Harvey 335, 336-41, 345-6, 348
Hatry, Clarence 576-7
Haugland, Knut 61, 63-8, 77-8, 956,
220, 225-6, 494
Haukelid, Knut 173-4, 220
Hazell, Major 52932
Heck 117-18, 292, 499
Heifer, Capt. Eric 98, 100, 128, 335, 343,
415, 447, 449, 460; and Archambault
plan 350-1; on Blizzard 274; on C 147,
346-7; and Dutch section 113-14, 277,
344, 348-9, 433; on Free French 387,
407; and in-house enquiry 337-9; and
LM's threatened dismissal 71-2, 229; and
new codes 245, 246, 265-6, 273, 2967,
305, 406; and Nicholls 106, 107, 129,
132-3, 143, 292; and Operation Gifthorse
321-2; on Ozanne 39-41, 292; and
Plan Giskes 216-17, 222; on plodders
483; as Signals deputy 296, 484, 4856,
488-9; on SOE-mindedness 71-3; on
Templar 563, 575; and Tiltman's visit
183-5; transfer to C 591-2, 595-6; on Y 163-5
Helberg 61, 63, 65, 67, 77, 220
Henderson, Captain 330-1, 420-3
Herriot, Edouard 510
Hitler, Adolf 306, 322, 351, 578
Hogg, Cmdr 252, 254-9, 273
Holland 27, 143, 186, 277, 284, 292,
352-3, 513-15, 576, 585; absence of
indecipherables 112-16, 353; agents'
security checks 16, 28, 73, 98-9, 113;
Allies in 561; April Fool's Day message
499-500; Boni traffic 230-6, 279-81;
Boni-Parsnip traffic 99-101, 112-13; C
and 347-8, 430-1; collapse of Resistance
430-2, 433, 443, 454, 479, 500; drops
107, 110, 509; Dutch (N) section 1012,
113, 274-5, 303-5, 479-80, 514;
enquiries 335-40, 600; first indecipherable
285-91, 337; government-in-exile
549-50; Kale's summons to London
342-4; Netball's traffic 343-9; Operation
Golf 1289,136,146,148,176,218;
operations suspended 447,452; Plan Giskes
157-62,174,203-8,214-16, 2228,
233-4; Plan Holland 120,124,2379,
277; Secret Army 120, 2379,277,282,
284, 342; traffic precis 116-26,129-34
Hollingsworth, Cmdr 11, 12, 102, 1045,
136,186, 243, 351-2,451-2
Holten 117
Hornsby-Smith, Pat 449-51, 457
Hornung, Ensign 482
Horton, Edward Everett 156
Howell, Ken 279, 348-9, 499
Hudson 85
Hutchison, Col. 69-70, 81, 301-3, 311,
328,397
Idland, Kasper 173, 220
Ince, Major 260, 262, 263, 264
India 457, 484, 485
Italy 555; armistice negotiations 35862,
379, 383-4; Italian directorate 360, 383,
457
Jackson, Margaret 346
The Jakarta Tales (Khan) 309, 311, 314, 316
Jambroes, Louis 120-4, 128-9, 146, 148,
176, 238, 282, 342, 347
Japan 582, 585
Jedburghs 418, 442, 502, 504, 51718,
526-7, 534-7, 548
Jeffers, see Trumpet
Jepson, Selwyn 200
Jockey network 547
Johannesen 104

610
Johnny (Gestapo agent) 214, 231-2
Johnson, Capt. 590-1
Jongelie, Christian, see Arie
Jordaan, see Trumpet
Juliana canal 120
Kale 281-2, 284-91, 335, 337, 340,
342-4,347, 353
Katwijk 119
Kayser, Fredrik 173
Keble, Brig. 368, 370, 372, 373-4, 379,
380-1
Kergolay 195
Khan, Noor Inayat (Madeleine) 416; briefing
308-9, 314-20, 492; captured 411, 419,
510, 513; in Dachau 560, 578; eccentricity
310; in France 363-4, 398-9, 509, 511;
Jakarta Tales 309, 311, 314, 316
Killick, Capt. 101-2, 161, 177-8, 234,
274-6, 303-4
Kisk, Capt. Jan 178-80
Kjektrup 61, 63, 65-8, 77, 220
Kloos, see Leek
Koenig, Gen. 546, 548
Kohlrabi 221
Kootwijk 121
Lacrosse 277-8, 280, 284
Lafosse, Doris 413
Latimer, Raoul, see Pandarus
Lee, Lionel, see Daks
Leek 117-18
Leigh, Vera 578
Leigh-Fermor, Patrick 590
Lettuce 117-18
Lindemann, Prof. 43, 94
Lippmann, Ola 243
Lisbon 356, 358, 360 London Gazette 596
Louis, Joe 75
Louise, see Szabo, Violette
Macmillan, Harold 358
Madrid 358
Mallaby, Dick 359-61, 379-80, 383-5
Maltby, Col. 596
Mangold 343-4, 353
Manuel, Capt. 169, 471-5, 481, 489
Manus, Max 173
Marinaud 386, 399
Marissal, Col. J. 507
Marks, Benjamin (LM's father) 1, 80,
151-6,321,356,398, 444, 448, 5767,
594
Marks, Michael 5
Marks, Mrs (LM's mother) 1, 80, 127, 151,
309, 3556
Marks, Sir Simon 56
Marks & Co. 1, 21, 62, 111, 150, 1518,
174,448, 551, 5767
Marks & Spencer 56
Marrow, see Jambroes
Martens, see Turnip
Massingham 293, 329, 358-9, 361, 379,
383-4, 453
Masters, Major 2, 4
Maud 480
Melbourne 539
MI8 184
Michael House 5, 79, 82, 593
Middle East 353, 548
Midskau, Sverre 173
Mihailovic, Draja 73, 85, 86, 453
Milton Hall 517, 527, 534
Ministry of Information 558
Ministry of Labour 332
Mitchelson 42
Mockler-Ferryman, Brig. 309, 451-2
Molenaar, Jan, see Turnip
Moller, Christmas 104
Molyneux, Capt. 81
Monkey traffic 359-62, 383-4, 397
Montagu Mansions 456, 596
Monte Carlo 81
Moore, Kay 301-3, 310-12, 424-5, 462,
489
Mooy, Adrian 122
Morton 237-8, 239, 240
Moulin, Jean 327-9, 365, 384
Mountbatten, Lord Louis 94
Mouvement Uni de la Resistance (MUR)
328
Muncke, Ebbe 103, 104
Munthe, Axel 174
Munthe, Major Malcolm 42, 172, 173-4
Murray, Michael P. 408-12, 415-16, 417,
555
Murray-Davies, Beryl 507fn
Musgrove, Col. 527, 534-5, 537
Mussolini, Benito 358
Muus, Flemming 221, 243, 451-2, 454
National Committee/Council of Resistance
(Dutch) 120, 122-4, 131, 146, 231,
233
Netball 274-6, 277-8, 280, 282, 284,
343-5, 348-9, 351, 353
Newman, Isidore 80

611
Nicholls, Brig. F.W. (Nick) 114, 127, 408;
aide-memoire on Dutch 236-9; and
Archambault plan 350-1; cancelled
messages memo 159-60; and closure of
SOE 585-7, 590, 593-4; and Dutch
section 116, 124-5, 149, 275-6, 2801,
292, 335, 344, 429-33; and Dutch traffic
precis 129-35; Executive Council member
341; on German cryptographers 322; and
Golf briefing 176; Indian tour 484, 485;
and in-house enquiry 337-40; lectures
556, 559-60; menaces and 145; and
Monkey traffic 360-2, 383; and new
codes 243,245, 246, 267, 273, 296, 299,
305, 332, 411, 458, 460; and Operation
Gift-horse 321-2; and OSS 418, 503,
516-19; on Passy 169; and Plan Giskes
216-17, 222-4, 228-9, 234; Signals
convention called by 141-4; Signals
director 107, 240, 292, 330; and Tiltman
108-9. 181, 184-5, 188-9; and Tommy
466-7, 469-70, 474; at Y 1623
Noble, Captain George 299-301, 4867,
510-13, 521
Noor, see Khan, N.
Norgeby House 39, 46, 110, 127, 129, 141,
143-4, 456
Norman, Gilbert, see Archambault
Norsk Hydro 43-4, 136, 160, 1712,
21920,243,321
North Africa 106, 322
Norway 13, 434; new codes 303, 325;
Operation Grouse 39, 44, 60-1, 76, 91,
94, 95-6, 106, 136, 160, 171; Operation
Gunnerside 136, 148, 159-61, 166,
171-4, 218, 219; OSS and 418, 502, see
also Norsk Hydro
O'Brian-Tear, Capt. 386, 424
Odette 17, 18, 95, 126, 187, 283-4, 350,
492
Oen, Col. Bjarne 172
Operation Arquebus 136, 148, 159, 161,
166-8, 328
Operation Bardsea 52832
Operation Bullseye 85
Operation Downend 555
Operation Fortitude 5256
Operation Gift-horse 308, 321-3, 325, 443,
481. 541
Operation Golf 129, 136, 146, 148, 159,
161, 166, 176-80,205,218, 235
Operation Grouse 39, 44, 60-1, 76, 91,
94-6, 106, 136, 160, 171
Operation Gunnerside 136, 148, 15961,
166, 1714,21819
Operation Marie-Claire 365, 386, 396,
399-400, 4245
'Operation NDO' 878
Operation Neptune 520
Operation Overlord 407, 485-6, 488, 517,
528,554
Operation Periwig 562, 56475
'Operation Sidetrack' 338
Operation Sussex 517, 548
Operation Swallow 171, 219
Operation Torch 39, 84, 322
Orchard Court 17, 126, 314, 493
O'Reilly, Major Jack 2, 3, 89-92, 112, 149,
336,398
OSS 86,142, 148, 417-18, 5023,517,
546, 548, 555
Overijssel 120
Owen, It 6-8, 17, 71-2, 80, 144
Oxford 252, 254
Ozanne, Col. G.D. 127,205,274; and
Grendon 12; as head of Signals 9,293;
issues reprimands 23, 38; and mainline
codes 10; opposition to change 40-2; and
poem codes 45-59, 98,293; replaced 107,
217,292-5; threatens dismissal 71-3
Pandarus 340fn, 504-8, 515
Paris 363-4, 399, 480, 484, 554
Park West, Edgeware Road 26,149, 380,452
Parker, Jerry 368, 524, 550
Parlevliet, see Beetroot
Parsnip 99-101, 107, 112-14, 120, 2045,
216, 230, 281, 500
Passy, Col. 425, 489; and Operation
Arquebus 136, 166-9, 218, 328; recall
284; RF head 546; and Secret Army 242;
Tommy and 29, 45, 365, 466
Paul 18,20
Payne, Air Comm. 432, 433-47
Peenemunde 351-2, 364, 397, 451
Perkins, Col. 529 Peeping Tom 339, 577
Petersen 103
Phillips, Major 378
Phoenix, Capt. 549
Phono circuit 510-11 Fiji, see Potato
Pimento organization 528
Piquet-Wicks 11, 12
Plan Giskes 158-61, 174, 178, 199, 2038,
214-16, 222, 225-6, 363, 576, 592
Plan Holland 120, 124, 237-9, 277

612
INDEX

Plewman, Eilane 578
Plummer, George 156-7, 552
Poe, Edgar Allan 12, 74, 151
Poles 528-32; Polish directorate (MP) 529
Pollock, Col. George 10, 24, 45
Potato 99, 100, 113-16, 118-20, 2045,
208,216,227,281,284
Poulson 61, 62, 63, 65, 67, 77, 220
Poundon 137, 142, 418
Priestley, J.B. Ill
Prosper circuit 325, 350
Pyle, Wing Cmdr 85
Quayle, Anthony 505fn
Quinine 526-7
Rabinovitch, Alee 74-5, 126, 187, 202, 283,
561
Radio Oranje 123, 130, 205
Ras, see Lettuce
Rennes 480-1
Reynaud, Paul 510
Ridley-Martin 368
Rjukan 43-4, 94, 96, 106, 220
Roger, see Cammaerts, F.
Roife, Lilian 578
Ronneberg, Joachim 136, 173
Roseberry, Col. 360, 383
Rottboll 103-4
Rowden, Diana 578
Royal Air Force (RAF) 432, 437, 461;
Bomber Command 447
Royal Corps of Signals 163
Rudellat, Yvonne 578
Russia 322, 398, 530, 586
Rustom Buildings, Cairo 368
Ruth 451, 452-3, 454, 498
RW513
Salerno 384
Salmon 25, 149
Sanson 283
SAS 458-9, 522, 525-6, 548
Saunders, Audrey 408, 412-15, 417, 428-9
Saunders, Col. Hugh 412
Scapin 385-7, 392, 399
Schiller 570-5
Seakale 221
Sebes, see Heck
Secret Intelligence Service ('C'): and Bletchley
185; codes 41, 434, 458; in Germany 555;
handles SOE's traffic 85; and Holland
239, 347-8, 430-1; LM transfers to 582,
585-6, 590-2, 595-6; and OSS 517; in
peacetime 593; records 599; recruitment
330; SOE's relations with 40, 71, 1034,
147-9,359,364,397,417,447,453; and
Y 164
Selborne, Lord 82, 91, 147-8, 239, 449,
451, 457, 460,484
Senter, Cmdr 332
Serreules, see Scapin
SHAEF 523, 528, 546, 550
Sheffield, Lord 358
Signals Corps 184
Sikorski, Gen. 529, 532
Skinnarland, Einar 13-14, 23, 42-4, 64,
94,141,160, 171, 187, 193, 220
Sneum 103
SOE: Camouflage and Special Devices
section, see Thatched Barn; closure
585-6; Executive Council 71, 79, 82,
147, 148, 267, 280, 292, 333, 341, 408,
417, 460, 466-7, 588; Finance directorate
408-9; HQ Signals Office 141-2, 145,
160, 202, 329, 379, 456; Home Station
wireless ops 279; as Inter Services
Research Bureau 5, 261-3; parameters
defined 277; recruitment 329-33; Security
and Planning Office 143-4, 146; Signals
directorate 9-10, 12, 28, 41, 107, 1345,
141, 292, 329, 333, 417, 432, 456,
466-7, 546; Special Forces HQ 546, 548;
structural changes 546; X section 5545,
561, 565, 575; for country sections see
under specific countries
Southampton 172
Southgate, Maurice 492, 501
Special Branch 2
Special Forces 460, 525; Advanced
Headquarters (SFHQ) 546-7, 555, 557,
582; Headquarters 546
Spinach, see Boni
Spindle group 75
Spink, Reginald 102, 105
Spooner 308,310
Sporborg, Col. Harry 82, 83, 406, 44950,
452, 555,557
Sprout 221, 430-1, 453, 479, 500
Stalingrad 322
Starheim, Odd 30, 44
Station 53, see Grendon
Staunton 532
Steenwijk 117, 119, 120, 122
Stevenson, Bill 148
Stirling, David 458
Stockholm 160, 172, 173, 219, 243, 351,
364

613