Enemies Within: Communists, the Cambridge Spies and the Making of Modern Britain. Richard Davenport-Hines

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СКАЧАТЬ to which they were posted; they attended manoeuvres, and watched new tactics and armoured formations; they were politically aware and kept alert to changing social and economic trends in their territories; they read newspapers and monitored specialist periodicals. Linguistic skills were a prerequisite. Noel Mason-MacFarlane, who was Military Attaché at Vienna and Budapest in 1931–5 and at Berlin in 1937–9, spoke excellent French and German and was conversant in Spanish, Hungarian and Russian. His Assistant Military Attaché in Berlin, Kenneth Strong, began intelligence work as a subaltern in Ireland in the early 1920s. During the struggle against Sinn Fein he ran informants such as railway porters, shopkeepers and barmen who would warn him of suspicious strangers in his district. He was fluent in four foreign languages and had smatterings of others. During the 1930s he was instrumental in starting the War Office’s Intelligence Corps. ‘The task of the Intelligence Officer’, Strong wrote, ‘is to exercise a spirit of positive inquiry and faculty of judgement, above all in discarding that large part of the incoming material which does not appreciably alter the known or anticipated situation, and from the residue to form a coherent and balanced picture, whether for a Supreme Commander, a Prime Minister … or for someone less elevated.’²¹

Edwardian espionage

      The power, the pride and the reach of the British Empire seemed in constant jeopardy after the defeats in South Africa. Lord Eustace Percy, who began his diplomatic career in Washington in 1911, recalled Edwardian England as always ‘overshadowed by premonitions of catastrophe’. He had been reared in a ducal castle, but ‘whatever privileges my generation enjoyed in its youth, a sense of security was not one of them’. There was no time ‘when a European war did not seem to me the most probable of prospects, or when I forgot my first ugly taste of public disaster in the Black Week of Colenso and Magersfontein, which had darkened the Christmas school holidays of 1899’.²²

      The temper of Edwardian England remained apprehensive. Newspapers profited by intensifying public anxieties. In 1906 the Daily Mail paid columns of morose men to march along Oxford Street in London wearing spiked helmets, Prussian-blue uniforms and bloodstained gloves. They carried sandwich-boards promoting a new novel of which the newspaper had bought the serialization rights, William Le Queux’s The Invasion of 1910 – a novel catering, as the Daily Mail’s shameless proprietor said, to his readers’ need for ‘a good hate’. Daily Mail readers were urged to refuse to be served by German waiters: ‘if your waiter says he is Swiss, ask to see his passport’. Le Queux was a bombastic sensationalist who pretended to intimate knowledge of European secret services. The fearful insecurity aroused by his next booming scare-stunt, Spies of the Kaiser (1909), overcame the Liberal government’s sentiment that domestic counter-espionage was a mark of despotic regimes. In October 1909 a Secret Service Bureau was established in rooms in Victoria Street.²³

      After months of dispute over purposes and responsibilities, the Bureau was sub-divided. The home section, which was known as MI5 from 1915 and also after 1931 as the Security Service, was given the purview of counter-espionage, counter-subversion and counter-sabotage in Britain and its overseas territories. The foreign section, known as the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS or MI1c, also later as MI6) was charged with collecting human intelligence (HUMINT) from non-British territories. In addition, Indian Political Intelligence (IPI) was formed to monitor the activities of Indian nationalists, revolutionaries and anarchists and their allies not only in Britain but across Europe. There were also three divisions of Scotland Yard’s Special Branch, which had been formed in 1883 in response to Irish dynamite attacks in London. A draconian Official Secrets Act of 1911 was a further signal that national security was being treated more systematically, and also being kept determinedly from informed public comment.

      Vernon Kell, the first Director of MI5, was a graduate of the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, whose father had been an English army officer and whose maternal grandfather was a Polish army surgeon. After his parents’ divorce, he travelled widely in Europe with his mother, visiting exiled members of her family and mastering French, German and other European languages. The War Office in the late 1890s posted him to Moscow and Shanghai to learn Russian and Chinese. There was no insularity about this multilingual man of action. He had the type of keen, alert efficiency that allows no time for showiness. The great hindrance to his work was that he had funds for only a small staff. Sir Edward Grey, Foreign Secretary when European war erupted in 1914, said with revealing naivety: ‘if we spend anything on Secret Service, it must be very trifling, because it never comes to my knowledge’. As Lord Eustace Percy noted, the ‘Secret Service’ account at the Office was devoted to the financial relief of impoverished British subjects overseas.²⁴

      There was a clear understanding by the new intelligence services of the benefits of watch-and-learn. In 1911 Heinrich Grosse was convicted of spying on the Royal Navy at Portsmouth, but the network of which he was part was left all but undisturbed. Identities were established, addresses, correspondence and activities were monitored. One or two individuals were arrested, when it was considered unavoidable, but the majority were allowed to continue transmitting inaccurate material. ‘In other words, we just played them,’ recalled Superintendent Percy Savage of Scotland Yard. Karl Ernst, a hairdresser at King’s Cross, who acted as the postbox for this spy network, was arrested in the first round-up of German agents in August 1914. Once the two nations were at war, it was no longer safe enough to keep him under surveillance: he had to be detained.²⁵

      England’s cabinet noir for intercepting and reading private and diplomatic correspondence, the Decyphering Branch, had been abolished in 1844 after parliamentary protests at the opening of the correspondence of the exiled Italian nationalist Giuseppe Mazzini and the sharing of their contents with the Austrian and Neapolitan governments. Perlustration was not resumed for seventy years. At the outbreak of hostilities in 1914, the Post Office (which was a government department, headed by a minister, the Postmaster General) employed a single censor intercepting, opening, reading and resealing suspect letters. By the Armistice in 1918 the Censor’s Office employed over 2,000 staff, who were expected to open at least 150 letters a day each.

      At the outset of war MI5 comprised Kell, six officers, its chief detective William Melville (formerly the Metropolitan Police superintendent in charge of Special Branch), two assistant detectives, six clerks and a caretaker. Its initial priority was to catch spies and saboteurs; but from 1916–17 its political masters were equally anxious about civil unrest and subversion. By 1918 MI5 had a staff of over 800, including 133 officers. Jervis would have rhapsodized at the amplitude of their records: over 250,000 index-cards cross-referencing 27,000 personal files in its central registry by the time of the Armistice that halted the European war in November 1918. Similarly Kell’s counterpart at SIS, Sir Mansfield Cumming, numbered his staff (exclusive of agents) as 47 in June 1915 and 1,024 by October 1916.

      The months after the Armistice were a time of political instability, strange alliances and imponderable risk. Exterior perceptions might mislead. In the east London slum district of Limehouse, during the last months of the war, Irish nationalists combined with socialists to organize a militant constituency cohort led by a pharmacist called Oscar Tobin. One day in January 1919 a newly demobilized soldier, carrying a nondescript suitcase like the terrorist in Conrad’s Secret Agent, visited Tobin’s shop, went up the backstairs with him and laid plans for socialists to take control of Stepney Borough Council. Tobin was a Jewish Romanian who was to be refused naturalization as a British subject in 1924. To a watcher the confabulation above his shop might have seemed the inception of a revolutionary cell; but the demobbed soldier was Clement Attlee, and this was the first step in a political career that always upheld constitutionalism and culminated in his leadership of his country during the Cold War. History is СКАЧАТЬ