Winston's Spy

by Robert Webber

  Looking at his watch, Charles said, ‘I’ve got to get you back for a meeting with the captain, and he’s a bugger for punctuality, so come on, chop-chop!’

  Charles and Alex returned to the house and went to the room where the secretaries had been working; they appeared to have gone home for the day, as they had covered their typewriters, and there was no paperwork to be seen.

  In response to their knock on the sitting-room door, a voice on the other side ordered, ‘Come in,’ and they entered.

  ‘Alex,’ welcomed Captain Bell, as both Alex and Charles entered the room, ‘come in, and have a seat. Thank you, Charles; we need to have a discussion with Alex, so will you make sure that we are not disturbed?’

  Charles saluted somewhat formally and left the room.

  Seated in the various comfortable chairs were Major Bullimore and a slightly built man with thinning hair and a somewhat hawk-like appearance, who was wearing a suit that appeared two sizes too big, but who undoubtedly held the authority in the room.

  Captain Bell introduced him. ‘This, Alex, is Colonel Swann, and he’s looking at how we might destabilise countries that are likely to be allies of Germany, in the event of war.’

  Alex noted that, even when he was introduced to Colonel Swann, the man’s ready smile of welcome did not extend to his eyes.

  ‘It is probable that,’ continued Captain Bell, ‘should you join our happy band, you will be working in Colonel Swann’s section.’ Captain Bell sat down.

  There was only a slight pause before Swann explained, ‘As you may have surmised, it is becoming more likely that we shall wage war with Germany. Consequently, it has become increasingly more important that we gather intelligence from every corner, and every nook and cranny that is likely to be a theatre of war. For rather too many years, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office has been a little over-obsessed with what has been occurring in Soviet Russia, and perhaps if they had been a little more attentive to the developments in Germany, we might well have avoided this conflict that we are now facing; however, we shall all learn from their mistakes. Now we have to gather intelligence quickly so that we can try to predict what will occur and when, and we can try to react quicker than we would currently be able.

  ‘We are a small section of what is known as the Secret Intelligence Services here in Britain, called Military Intelligence Section 2 or MI2. We are understaffed and appallingly underfunded, but we do have some friends in high places who have charged us with collating information and intelligence in the area of Russia and Scandinavia that may be of interest to our military tacticians. Although we report into the War Office officially, we liaise with other government departments, such as the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, to ensure that they can make informed decisions in the course of their business.

  ‘Of particular interest to our cause are the Nordic countries. In any conflict, we are pretty sure that Sweden will look to remain neutral; however, we are uncertain what the position would be for Norway, Denmark and Finland. Our best guess now is that Norway and Denmark, being monarchies, will either want to remain neutral or will regard Germany as an aggressor and look to align themselves to our cause. Whether this position will be sustainable for any length of time, sadly, seems unlikely.

  ‘In the case of Finland, the situation is slightly different. For a start, Finland is not a monarchy but a republic, and, as you know, only gained its independence from Russia in 1917, since when there has been an uneasy truce between the two countries. Our sources tell us that Stalin is likely to try to reach a peaceful solution with Germany, and perhaps even become an ally of the Third Reich. If that is the case, then Finland would probably seek our support, as we have had good relations with the country since their liberation. However, if Russia were to take up arms against Germany, then it is equally probable that Finland would seek the support of Herr Hitler. Our best guess at the moment is that Finland would want to ally itself with whomsoever considers Russia to be their enemy.

  ‘Consequently, it is considered essential that we start to gather intelligence from Finland, and this, Alex, is where we think you can help us. We have identified you as having a unique set of skills that we believe make you the ideal candidate to work with us to gather the intelligence we need to predict developments in that country. Firstly, you speak Russian fluently, but you have no great love for the Soviets; secondly, you grew up in Finland, and understand both Finnish and Swedish; thirdly, and most importantly, you have shown great resilience in the, shall we say, initiation tests that we have conducted thus far. These three attributes, plus the personal recommendations of respected colleagues, are why we consider you eminently suitable for this highly important task.’

  Alex was perplexed; for a start, he could not imagine anybody in his circle of friends or close acquaintances who might be in a position to recommend him to these people, and, furthermore, he doubted his ability to fulfil the proposed tasks with any degree of objectivity or detachment.

  ‘I am flattered,’ said Alex, ‘that your impression of me is such that you believe that I could fulfil your expectations; I am unsure that I agree with your analysis, however. Moreover, I cannot think of anybody who would recommend me for this role. More importantly, although I spoke both Finnish and Swedish as a child, I have not spoken either language for many a long year. Currently, I doubt that I could even translate the simplest of conversations from either of those languages. Regarding my knowledge of Russian, you said before that the Foreign and Commonwealth Office has spent a long time considering operations in Russia, so I’m sure that there are others who are better qualified than I and with a greater knowledge of your craft, who would serve your cause better. That said, I am willing to serve my adopted country in any manner that it sees fit.’

  VI

  Thus began Alex’s introduction to the dark arts of espionage. Day in and day out, he learned what was described euphemistically as “survival tactics” by experts in all fields from cyphering, through living off the land, right up to how to kill using his bare hands. He was often taken out by truck and dumped in a remote part of the New Forest, Cranborne Chase or the South Downs, sometimes during daylight and other times at night, with little more than his wits to guide him back to the Grange. Alex studied how to make explosives from household items and how to make an initiator to detonate them. He was even taught rudimentary military discipline, which for the most part involved parading up and down, and stamping his feet whenever stopping, starting, turning or anything else that his drill sergeant, who was known as “my name is Sergeant Muir, spelled B-A-S-T-A-R-D”, told him to do.

  His instructors ranged from a rather studious young man who had apparently survived being thoroughly lost in Norway in the depths of winter for two months to a thoroughly amiable cove who explained that all good cyphers were mathematically based and that the secret was to sufficiently confuse any mathematician working for the other side so that yours remained secure. A less agreeable character was the squat naval petty officer who seemed to have muscles on top of other muscles, and who left Alex substantially bruised following his instruction on how best to neutralise a foe quietly. There was an utterly dotty professorial type whose lethal explosives belied his affable demeanour, and then there was the “loveable” Sergeant Muir.

  Rebuilding Alex’s ability with the Finnish language was undertaken by an elderly ex-diplomat called Randolph, who had served at the British Embassy in Helsinki for several years, and refreshing his Swedish was conducted by a charming lady in her mid-thirties, by the name of Inga, who was married to a British businessman and who, from what Alex understood, lived locally.

  The sessions that Alex enjoyed most were with a chain-smoking, ex-Fleet Street journalist, who smelled consistently of stale alcohol, and who taught him how to say much in very few words. ‘Journalistic column inches reduce the revenue from advertisers – and advertisers pay your salary!’ was his maxim that he drummed into Alex’s
brain at every opportunity. Alex started to believe that, should he fail at everything else, at least a career in journalism was a possibility.

  Alex started his working days at the ungodly hour of 6.00am and often worked through until 10.00pm. When he had finished for the day, he often had homework to complete before the next session, so his social life ceased to exist. However, Alex was not alone in this punishing schedule; most trainees at the Grange were subject to similar timetables, and Alex concluded that speed of training was imperative, and keeping the novices busy meant there was little opportunity to form friendships that could compromise safety when the agents became active in the field.

  Alex and Florian were joined in Hut Six by two other trainees: a Dutchman called Jan and Frenchman named Jean-Christophe. None of the four discussed anything about their personal lives before their arrival at the Grange, and they spent their free time focusing on the tasks and exercises that they had been set. Alex, Florian and Jean-Christophe were all in their twenties, but the Dutchman, Jan, was older, and Alex guessed that he was closer to forty than he was to thirty.

  The highlight of the week was church parade on Sunday mornings. There is, and always has been, a strong link between the military and religion, and although Alex did not consider himself particularly pious, he joined in the spiritual activities happily. His mother told him that he had been baptised an Orthodox Christian shortly after his birth in Finland, as Orthodox Christianity was an “official” religion in Finland. She even continued to wear a golden Russian Orthodox suppedaneum cross on a necklace, but he could not ever recall her having visited a church. The closest he had come to finding faith was at Lassiter’s, where Anglicanism was the order of the day, but his friendship with Simon Potts – who did not attend Christian worship because of his Jewish heritage – set doubts in Alex’s mind. At the Grange, church parade was something different to the usual routine, and it was the only time during the week when the male and female trainees shared an activity; even so, they were kept strictly apart from each other.

  The chaplain attached to the Grange wore the uniform of a captain, but it was apparent from the cut of the uniform and the medal ribbons that he wore that his military service had been during the Great War. Pencil thin and balding, with a slight stoop and horn-rimmed, half-moon glasses, he appeared a man more suited to the halls of academia than a military training establishment. The padre suffered under the moniker, the Reverend Aloysius Percival Cholmondeley-Hall, which he pronounced, ‘Chumley-Hall,’ almost embarrassingly. He appeared to work at the Grange part-time, and Alex had the distinct impression that he had other establishments to service as well as the Grange. Although, in many ways, he was completely scatterbrained and utterly eccentric, he never forgot the names of his flock, and he was always prepared to listen when a trainee had difficulties and needed a sympathetic ear.

  Alex rather liked the chaplain, and whenever an opportunity occurred, he would seek spiritual guidance and explore various theological themes, questioning his beliefs and seeking enlightenment.

  Charles had been conspicuous by his absence during the period of Alex’s training, although Alex had spotted him around the Grange on occasion. After an intense and meaningful discussion with the padre following church parade one Sunday, when Alex had been at the Grange for just over seven weeks, Charles made a point of finding Alex and discussing how his training was progressing. Alex assured him that things were going well.

  Via a somewhat circuitous route, Charles came to the nub of the matter. ‘How are you getting on with the God-botherer?’

  ‘Who?’ enquired Alex.

  ‘The padre, Cholmondeley-what’s-his-name,’ responded Charles.

  ‘Oh, reasonably well, I think; he seems an interesting chap with some distinctly sensible, if unfashionable, views,’ ventured Alex.

  ‘Yes… well, don’t take too much of what he says to heart. Rather peculiar chappies are chaplains. Military law says we must have them, but some have some extraordinary ideas. Take our chappie, for instance; he served with distinction last time, even earned himself the Military Cross, and then found some decidedly curious opinions. Some say he is a bit of a communist, and that he joined the Reds after his demob, but I don’t know how true that is! So I’d take what he says with a pinch of salt if I were you.’

  Alex was confused; nothing he had heard the chaplain discuss suggested that he might have communist beliefs, and yet the seed of doubt had been planted. He wondered at the reasoning behind this blatant attempt at challenging his nascent beliefs.

  *

  The next time Alex met Charles was a few days later when Charles rapped smartly on the door of Hut Six before entering and finding Alex lying on his bed revising some text that had been given to him earlier.

  ‘Come on, lazybones,’ announced Charles jovially, ‘Captain Bell wants to see you!’

  ‘About what?’ enquired Alex.

  ‘Good Lord! Don’t ask me, old chap; I didn’t think to ask him! I was just told to come and find you, and bring you forth, lickety-split!’

  Wondering about the reason for this summons, Alex rose, smartened his appearance quickly by running a comb through his unruly hair, and grumbled at Charles, ‘Well, come on then, I’d best not keep the old boy waiting.’

  *

  When Alex and Charles arrived at Captain Bell’s office, seated in the comfortable armchairs within were both the man himself and Colonel Swann, neither of whom rose to meet Alex and Charles, who were left uncomfortably ignored while the colonel completed some anecdote that raised a gruff guffaw from Captain Bell when the story concluded.

  The captain looked up and smiled at Alex. ‘Well, my boy,’ he began (Alex grimaced at the familiarity), ‘you are undoubtedly aware of the worsening situation in Europe and of our wonderful politicians continuing whimsey that there remains a hope of reaching an agreement with Herr Hitler. Personally, I think they are deluded! Only last year, that bugger violated the Treaty of Versailles by annexing Austria – not that I think the Austrians were unwilling – in what is now known as the Anschluß. Then we had Chamberlain returning from Munich declaring, “Peace for our time,” having signed that incredible construct of infamy, the Munich Agreement. “Peace with honour”; the man’s been hoodwinked!’

  Swann coughed discreetly, as a cautious warning that Captain Bell might be crossing a line.

  ‘Anyway, earlier this year,’ the captain continued, ‘Hitler violated his own agreement by occupying the rest of Czechoslovakia, and then his partner in crime, Mussolini, invaded Albania. But you know all this. What you may not know is that Hitler has amassed troops on the Polish border, and if he should presume to invade Poland, then this country and France will likely declare war on the Third Reich.

  ‘So, we could be at war with Germany by the end of this month, and that means that your little project will be brought forwards. Consequently, we think it is time that you enjoyed a bit of leave before progressing to the next stage in your training. Colonel Swann thought that you might like a bit of time in London. Conveniently, Lieutenant Phipps is due some leave as well, so we thought the both of you could go off together.’

  Alex was unsure how to take this suggestion. Was Charles genuinely due leave? Or, more likely, was it that they wanted to keep an eye on Alex?

  ‘You ought to have fun,’ the captain continued, ‘Young Phipps knows some exceptional places where one can enjoy oneself in the capital! Just a slight note of warning: you will understandably want to see your family while in London, but be careful what you say about what you will be doing for us. We wouldn’t want any unfortunate slip-ups, now would we?’

  Alex was affronted. Of course, he wanted to see his family, particularly his mother, as he was not sure what they had told her about his lack of contact over the past weeks, and what about Uncle Walter or his colleagues at Inkerman’s? What had they been told?

  He was about to voice his prot
est when the captain continued in a benign manner such as that an uncle might use to address his favourite nephew, ‘I know that your mother is looking forward to seeing you again, as is your uncle…’

  Really? How on earth could he know that? thought Alex.

  The captain went on, ‘But discretion is our watchword, and we find it useful to give our people a cover story. Yours is that you joined up, you were given a commission in the Royal Navy and, quite simply, you have spent most of the past weeks undergoing basic training. You met Charles through another officer cadet, who is Charles’s younger brother, Louis. That bit, incidentally, is true; Charles’s younger brother has just completed officer training in the Royal Navy!

  ‘Welcome to the Senior Service, Sub-Lieutenant Alex Carlton! We have got you a rather nice uniform, but you might like to visit someone in Savile Row while you are in London, and get properly kitted out.’

  Captain Bell pressed a button on his desk, and a young Wren entered carrying the uniform of a sub-lieutenant in the Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve, or the “Wavy Navy” as it was to become known.

  ‘Congratulations, Alex,’ commended the captain, ‘you have the distinction of being one of the first officers commissioned into the reformed “for hostilities only” Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve, so go, get yourself ready and report back here at 12:00 hours, and we will see about getting you off for your break.’

  Having just been told that he had become a commissioned officer, Alex was uncertain whether he should salute the senior officer or not, but Captain Bell resolved his confusion by extending his hand to shake Alex’s. Colonel Swann also held out his hand, and Alex shook it.