The Spy Who Loved: The Secrets and Lives of Christine Granville

by Clare Mulley

  One new face was Colonel Cookham, a British officer who had rented a fine villa near to Christine, with a garden overgrown with bougainvillea and poinsettia, and lawns sloping gently down to the Nile. By day Christine joined Cookham on tours of Cairo’s mosques and historic sites and, story has it, by night on ‘excursions by felucca’ to watch the flamingos and ibis in their evening flight upriver, eat kebabs, and drink red wine beside the water.89 Cookham was, Truszkowski reported, ‘a very decent sort’, but he was not a permanent fixture.90 Having tried unsuccessfully to persuade Christine to marry him, he was parachuted into Yugoslavia on a mission to Marshal Tito. There he was killed in action. After news of his death reached Cairo, Christine never mentioned his name again.

  Throughout everything, Christine kept up her private information service for the British SOE, providing ‘a good deal of valuable information’ despite being under surveillance herself by the Polish Second Bureau, who were keeping ‘a long account’ of her activities.91 The Russian victory against the Nazis at Stalingrad in February 1943 – ‘surely’, in the words of SOE’s chief coder, ‘the most effective eviction notice ever served on an invader’ – turned the tide of the war.92 Terrified that Stalin and Hitler might negotiate an independent peace treaty, Churchill and Roosevelt put increasing pressure on the Poles to accept the Soviet–Polish frontier changes. Dissent within the Polish forces increased correspondingly.

  Christine was now approached by General Anders’s aide-decamp, Captain Klimkowski, whom SOE, with their usual dry humour, had code-named ‘Plague’. Christine agreed to meet Klimkowski at the Continental Hotel. She was followed, she reported, by a fat Second Bureau agent with a limp, who managed to sit at the next table despite her frequent moves. Sadly there is no record of their conversation, but SOE understood that Klimkowski’s star was in the ascendant. ‘Nobody…’, they wrote, ‘dares to oppose Plague openly for fear he may be the coming man’.93 Two weeks later there was an abortive coup, aiming to replace Sikorski with General Kazimierz Sosnkowski. Klimkowski, who belonged to a different faction of conspirators, warned Anders about the intended action, and Anders remained loyal to Sikorski. However, SOE now reported that rumours had begun circulating ‘to the effect that if Gen Sikorski pays a visit to the Middle East he will be assassinated’ by a group of extremists led by Klimkowski.94 Patrick Howarth called for urgent action, and British concern that ‘an “attempt” is contemplated’ by a secret military clique ‘on the life of General Sikorski’ led to a significant increase in security around the general in London.95

  By April 1943, Cairo was again humming with stories of ‘impending crises’ and ‘tales of calamity’.96 April was the month when the hot desert wind, the khamsin, blew through Cairo’s streets, choking the city with sand and dust, which camouflaged the buildings and trees in the municipal parks. This year a khamsin of rumours whirled through Cairo at the same time, obscuring the intelligence picture just as effectively. Truszkowski urged London to treat Christine’s reports with caution. ‘Willing is certainly a most delightful person’, he wrote, ‘and I have no doubt that she believes very much of what she says’, but she is ‘very highly strung’, and her information ‘coloured by its emotional context and by feelings of friendship’.97

  No doubt this was true, but something was going on and Christine was caught up in it. The Poles suddenly wanted rid of her, and offered her unconditional work in Romania. Christine was ‘distinctly suspicious’, and Truszkowski conceded that he saw why the Poles ‘would be very glad to have her out of the way at this particular moment in view of the extent to which [Anders, Klimkowski] and the rest of them talk to her’.98 Klimkowski’s conversations with Christine had by now confirmed British opinion that he was ‘fanatically’ anti-Sikorski.99 Despite her doubts, Christine offered to take the Polish job and then report directly to the British from Romania, although her real aim was to get back to Poland and file reports from there. Truszkowski argued against such a move. Double-crossing was a ‘dangerous game’, he wrote. ‘Willing would be very foolish if she started any such game.’100 So she stayed in Cairo, where the Polish political intrigues were becoming ever more involved.

  On 13 April, Berlin radio broadcast the discovery of ‘a ditch … 28 metres long and 16 metres wide, in which the bodies of 3,000 Polish officers were piled up in 12 layers’.101 German military forces advancing into Russia through the Katyn Forest, near Smolensk, had uncovered the first mass grave of the nearly 20,000 officers and representatives of the Polish intelligentsia who had been missing since their internment by the Soviets in 1939. They had been taken from their prison camps into the forest in groups of around 200, restrained, and shot in the back of the head. Some still carried diaries and letters home. It was a war crime of appalling magnitude. The Germans accused the Soviets of having carried out the massacre in the spring of 1940. After initially suggesting that the find was an ancient burial site, the Soviets claimed the Nazis were responsible. Sikorski demanded an independent investigation by the International Red Cross. In response, Stalin cynically accused the Poles of bad faith and collaboration with the Germans, and used this as an excuse to break off diplomatic relations.

  As British Ambassador to the Polish government-in-exile, Sir Owen O’Malley wrote two reports on the ‘Katyn massacre’, the first in May 1943, detailing the horrific last moments of the murdered men, and passionately presenting the evidence that this was indeed a Soviet act of genocide. These documents caused consternation in the British Foreign Office, but Churchill was unwilling to risk alienating Stalin, and instructed that ‘the issue was to be avoided’.102 After a limited circulation, Sir Owen’s reports were buried in the archives. ‘In handling the publicity side of the Katyn affair we have been constrained by the urgent need for cordial relations with the Soviet Government…’, Sir Owen wrote; ‘we have in fact perforce used the good name of England like the murderers used the little conifers to cover up a massacre’.*103

  One week after news of the massacre broke, the Nazis launched their operation to clear the Warsaw ghetto. A year earlier it had been the largest Jewish ghetto in occupied Europe, but over 250,000 residents had already been sent to the extermination camp at Treblinka and a further 100,000 had died from disease, starvation or random shootings. Although there had been some coverage of the deportation and subsequent disappearance of hundreds of thousands of European Jews in the British and Palestinian press, Christine must have held on to the possibility that Stefania and some of her Goldfeder cousins might still be living in the ghetto. On 19 April 1943, the eve of Passover, 2,000 Nazi troops entered the ghetto, systematically destroying buildings block by block despite being fought all the way by a courageous, organized and armed resistance. The battle lasted twenty-eight days during which over 50,000 people were murdered or sent to Nazi concentration or death camps. ‘By the rubbish bins, lay women, girls and children in a sea of blood’, one survivor later testified. ‘An abandoned heap, like old and useless rags, a pile of old clothes.’104 Patrick Howarth, so close to Christine, later called the destruction of virtually the entire population of the ghetto ‘the greatest single act of genocide in the war’.105 Whatever faint hope Christine might have held out for her mother now died. From this moment onwards she rarely spoke of Stefania, even to her closest friends, and always completed any personnel forms by clearly listing both her parents as dead.

  In late May, Sikorski embarked on a month-long military tour of inspection, visiting Polish units in the Middle East, most of whose men had come from prison camps in Russia. His intention was to make his government’s policy on the Soviet Union clear, and to calm the tensions that had been growing in the ranks since the discoveries at Katyn, fuelling rumours of a coup. Howarth would later testify that the British uncovered a Russian plot, linked to the NKVD, to assassinate Sikorski in the Middle East: ‘to kill him then’.106 However, after visiting the troops, and holding lengthy discussions with Anders and other Polish military leaders, Sikorski returned safely to Cairo.
/>
  Christine had planned to introduce Andrzej to Sikorski, to promote his chances of deployment, but the general was preoccupied. On 2 July, Howarth reported that Sikorski seemed to have ‘gained a palpable victory, but more by purges and a show of force than by wooing or the redress of grievances’. Anders had demanded military control, but the wind was taken out of his sails when Klimkowski, his main backer, was posted to the USA.* Christine’s old friend Colonel Bobinski now bore ‘along with other conspirators a slightly sheepish air’, Howarth noted.107 ‘General Sikorski left today direct for England’, the British Foreign Office filed on 3 July. ‘Although at one time there were indications of dangerous disagreement between Sikorski and Anders … these difficulties have now been surmounted’ and Sikorski felt ‘thoroughly satisfied’.108

  On 4 July 1943 the converted Liberator bomber flying Sikorski back to Britain crashed into the sea within minutes of take-off from its stopover in Gibraltar. The general, his daughter in her sealskin coat, the British MP Victor Cazalet, and all those on board except the Czech pilot, were killed instantly.† Evidence considered by an RAF inquiry, attended by a Polish Air Force officer, pointed to an accident as a result of a technical fault and ruled out sabotage, although the full details could not be determined. Inevitably conspiracy theories quickly circulated, including suggestions, fuelled by Axis propaganda, that Allied secret services were behind the accident. Other theories blamed the Soviets, or the various Polish factions.109 Gubbins was deeply affected by the death of his friend and ally, and rebutted any suggestions of British involvement in the most ‘forcible language’.110 Howarth was also keen to debunk any theory that the British were behind the crash, reportedly once writing to The Times: ‘Sir, if General Sikorski had been murdered, I would have had to do it. I didn’t. Yours etc, Patrick Howarth’.111 But Howarth remained unconvinced that there was no connection between the Polish–Soviet assassination plans in the Middle East and the Gibraltar air-crash. As Howarth’s confidant, Christine no doubt had her own suspicions, but if so she wisely did not broadcast them.‡

  Sir Owen O’Malley was among the first to express his condolences to Madame Sikorska on both a personal and a diplomatic level. Winston Churchill heartened the rest of the Poles with a powerful BBC broadcast. ‘I shall not forget you’, Churchill told the Polish people. ‘My own thoughts are with you and will always be with you.’112 But the death of Sikorski, arguably the only Polish leader that the Allies respected, was a huge blow to Poland’s hopes.

  This latest tragedy, at the end of months of trauma, left Christine ‘periodically depressed’.113 She had been at the heart of the Polish political intrigue, talking to, and reporting on, the key conspirators in a series of plots against Sikorski, almost until the moment of his death. Yet how much she knew, suspected, missed or was deceived, and how much she reported to her British bosses, will never be fully known. Ultimately her reports had achieved little of definite value: the removal of a probable German double agent and exposure of some other dubious contacts and conspiracies, the placement of Michal Gradowski in Albania where his work earned him a Military Cross, and better-informed British decision-making in general. She had certainly proved a great asset to Patrick Howarth, and her determination always to maintain an independent assessment of any situation had – when she turned down the offer of the Polish mission to Romania – probably also saved her life.

  But Christine placed no great value on her life if it were not to be used for the good of her country. Over the past year Witkowski had been assassinated, the atrocity at Katyn had been discovered but effectively ignored, the Warsaw ghetto had been razed to the ground, General Sikorski had died, and Poland was still occupied. Christine could no longer justify remaining in Egypt. The war in Europe was coming to a head and the pain of the last two years could only be anaesthetized by an injection of adrenalin. Christine was no longer ‘Willing’; her role as a ‘beautiful spy’ was over.

  9: OUR WOMAN IN ALGIERS

  Colin Gubbins was not a man to sugar-coat his opinions. ‘Cairo was a sink of iniquity’, he wrote, ‘with an evil atmosphere which permeated every service’.1 The autumn of 1943 was exceptionally hot and sticky in Egypt, but plenty of fresh air was blasted into SOE when Gubbins was given the code-name ‘M’ and promoted to head ‘the firm’.* According to the SOE codebreaker Leo Marks, Gubbins’s eyes ‘didn’t mirror his soul or any other such trivia. The general’s eyes reflected the crossed swords on his shoulders, warning all comers not to cross them with him’.2 From the moment he received news of his promotion, Gubbins knew that his ‘first priority was to sort out Cairo’.3

  Gubbins arrived in Egypt in October 1943. He immediately announced that most of the staff were to be transferred to Italy. Cairo SOE was not being completely closed down, but it had lost its regional significance. ‘Operation Torch’ in North Africa had secured Algeria for the Allies, and soon Vichy Morocco was forced to abandon its position of neutrality, paving the way for the Allied invasion of Italy. Mussolini had been deposed in July 1943. The surrender terms were finalized in Algiers by Douglas Dodds-Parker, who had kindly lent his bedroom to the Italian delegates for their private talks, his foresight in bugging it taking ‘much of the surprise out of the subsequent discussions’.4 The required radio link to Italy was provided by Christine’s former wireless instructor, the ‘dreamily’ handsome Dick Mallaby, who was, conveniently, in prison in Verona having been captured after parachuting into Lake Como. ‘We rolled up the Italian Empire in a year’, Dodds-Parker later commented with satisfaction.5 Algeria and Italy were better placed than Egypt or Britain for managing operations into southern and central Europe, and Christine was determined to be part of one of these ops.

  Having helped create SOE in the face of considerable opposition, and now come blazing in to sort out the Middle East office, Gubbins was, in Lord Selbourne’s words, ‘not universally popular’.6 However, he had the gift of inspiring confidence, and spent as much time as he could with the younger agents in Cairo, by whom he was accepted not only as their commanding officer but ‘as a battle-scarred member of their own tribe’.7 He, Christine and Andrzej got on like a house on fire, sharing not only their love of Poland, but a great belief in honour through action. In a rare bit of long-term planning, Gubbins and Christine even pledged to go skiing together on Poland’s free slopes once the war was over. Before he left, Gubbins threw an all-ranks party to which he invited the FANYs as well as agents and officers. Having knocked back a few whiskies he led the dancing in his kilt, keeping going into the small hours. The more robust even witnessed his party trick. Taking off his jacket, Gubbins stood on his hands with a pint of beer on the floor in front of him. He then slowly let himself down until he could get the glass in his teeth and drain it while still standing on his head … all while dressed in his kilt. How he managed this, and how he discovered his remarkable ability, remain among SOE’s deeper secrets. Having reorganized the regional structure, and inspired the agents, Gubbins returned to London. ‘Please give my love to Forcible and Willing,’ one of his messages ran, ‘and tell them how much I miss them.’8

  A few weeks later Andrzej put in an official request for a transfer. The reason cited was that sand kept working into his artificial leg, damaging both the stump, which had ulcerated again and needed re-dressing several times a day, and the prosthesis, which had to be regularly removed for cleaning. The pain and discomfort were considerable but there were other, supporting, reasons that made Andrzej apply for a transfer. His relationship with Christine, although close, had never regained its old intimacy after his trip to Haifa in February 1943. After his paramilitary training he had stayed on as a parachute packer and assistant instructor while she found other admirers in Cairo. When he returned in the late spring they digested the terrible news of Katyn, the destruction of the Warsaw ghetto and General Sikorski’s death together, cementing their deep bonds of friendship and mutual support. But they could never resolve the fundamental imbalance between Andrzej’s adora
tion of Christine and her need for freedom. Then, that summer, Andrzej received more news from Poland.

  In July the London Gazeta Polska published a story about a massacre in Zbydniów, then south-eastern Poland, Galicia, where Andrzej’s uncle lived. ‘Can you discover the truth of a report…’, Howarth telegraphed Perks in London, ‘that all Forcible’s family were killed by Gestapo?’9 Andrzej ‘with his usual lightness … doesn’t believe it’, Christine wrote, but she was not so confident herself.10 The truth was almost unbearable. The previous month, friends and relations had gathered at a family country house for a wedding. Late that evening, when only the most tenacious guests were still up playing bridge, the SS arrived. Andrzej’s mother, Maria, opened the door, and was immediately shot dead. Of the twenty-one people in the wedding photographs, including the seventeen-year-old bride, only two would survive the evening – brothers who had been quickly hidden in the attic by their mother, from where they heard their thirteen-year-old sister shot dead as she knelt by her bed, praying. The massacre had been arranged by a Nazi official who coveted the estate. The Polish Underground Army issued a death sentence, and the two surviving boys were part of the execution squad that shot the official and his family. In retribution, ten Poles from Kraków jail were shot by the Germans. Both the young brothers were later killed in action. The only members of Andrzej’s family to survive the war were his sister Barbara, who had not been at the wedding, and an older cousin who was already in the Underground Army.*