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Authors: James Hayward
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man of seventy,
racked by terminal cancer, Neville Chamberlain’s voice sounded weary, even sepulchral. Britain, he announced, was again at war with Germany. ‘You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to
me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed. It is evil things that we shall be fighting against – brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution. And against them I
am certain that right will prevail.’
Chamberlain’s downbeat speech was followed by the national anthem, for which not every citizen stood. Eight numb minutes later came the dread sound of air raid sirens, a banshee wail that
carried across London like a great cry of pain. Gas masks in hand, the population filed towards the shelters and ‘bogey holes’ in orderly fashion, some regarding the sky expectantly,
others staring glumly at their feet. Three years earlier moviegoers had been horrified by scenes of urban apocalypse in
Things to Come
, glimpsing fact in science fiction. Now, with war a
reality, most expected to emerge from underground to find their homes reduced to cinders and rubble, and the streets choked with corpses and poison gas.
Lazy Arthur Owens stayed tucked up in bed. Now that the BBC had pulled weather reports from the airwaves, the Luftwaffe would be reliant upon Colonel Johnny for accurate meteorological data.
Already, however, there were rumours that MI5 had commandeered a fleet of Post Office mobile detector vans in order to hunt down enemy wireless spies. Fearful of betraying his location,
Hitler’s chief spy in England remained silent until early evening, then warmed his valves to buzz Ritter details of a brand new strategic fuel reserve depot, lately and discreetly cut into a
hillside in Hampshire.
‘Eastern side of long Winchester-Basingstoke railway line between Micheldever station and tunnel, 10 million gallons of aviation fuel in chalk cliff. Easiest to
bomb from southern end.’
Owens’ jumpy paranoia increased tenfold when Bob calledto warn that the Branch had come calling at Grosvenor Court, anxious to detain his absent father under Defence
Regulation 18B.
This was Plan Snuffbox, by which known enemy agents were to be rounded up as soon as war broke out. The select arrest list compiled by MI5 included Arthur Owens, whose own 18B Order was issued
within hours of German troops crossing the Polish border. The Branch had missed him in Morden, while illicit transmissions were difficult to pinpoint, B1A having found that the balloon barrage now
floating above London served to distort radio signals. Nonetheless, it seemed that it would be only a matter of time before the ‘political cops’ from Scotland Yard located Owens at the
Surbiton bolt-hole thoughtfully provided by Alex Myner.
Everywhere events moved quickly. The governments of France, Australia, New Zealand and India joined Britain in declaring war on Germany, while Holland, Belgium, Denmark and Spain declared strict
neutrality. Seeking to preserve his own non-aligned freedom, at noon on Monday Owens called Bill Gagen and arranged to meet him at Waterloo station at four o’clock. ‘He stated he wished
to offer his services to the British government,’ the Special Branch inspector wrote, ‘but declined to reveal his address.’
Snow knew full well that this meeting was a calculated risk. Travelling into central London with Lily, he told her to keep her distance on the crowded concourse at Waterloo, and warned what to
do next if the Branch failed to greet their star double agent with chocolates and flowers. These fears proved well founded. After Owens again refused to confirm his address, Gagen placed the Little
Man under arrest, then bundled him into a shiny Vauxhall saloon and sped him directly to Wandsworth gaol.
A grim Victorian complex south of the river, Wandsworth was the largest prison in London by some measure, able toaccommodate more than fifteen hundred inmates and with a
working gallows still in situ on E
racked by terminal cancer, Neville Chamberlain’s voice sounded weary, even sepulchral. Britain, he announced, was again at war with Germany. ‘You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to
me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed. It is evil things that we shall be fighting against – brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution. And against them I
am certain that right will prevail.’
Chamberlain’s downbeat speech was followed by the national anthem, for which not every citizen stood. Eight numb minutes later came the dread sound of air raid sirens, a banshee wail that
carried across London like a great cry of pain. Gas masks in hand, the population filed towards the shelters and ‘bogey holes’ in orderly fashion, some regarding the sky expectantly,
others staring glumly at their feet. Three years earlier moviegoers had been horrified by scenes of urban apocalypse in
Things to Come
, glimpsing fact in science fiction. Now, with war a
reality, most expected to emerge from underground to find their homes reduced to cinders and rubble, and the streets choked with corpses and poison gas.
Lazy Arthur Owens stayed tucked up in bed. Now that the BBC had pulled weather reports from the airwaves, the Luftwaffe would be reliant upon Colonel Johnny for accurate meteorological data.
Already, however, there were rumours that MI5 had commandeered a fleet of Post Office mobile detector vans in order to hunt down enemy wireless spies. Fearful of betraying his location,
Hitler’s chief spy in England remained silent until early evening, then warmed his valves to buzz Ritter details of a brand new strategic fuel reserve depot, lately and discreetly cut into a
hillside in Hampshire.
‘Eastern side of long Winchester-Basingstoke railway line between Micheldever station and tunnel, 10 million gallons of aviation fuel in chalk cliff. Easiest to
bomb from southern end.’
Owens’ jumpy paranoia increased tenfold when Bob calledto warn that the Branch had come calling at Grosvenor Court, anxious to detain his absent father under Defence
Regulation 18B.
This was Plan Snuffbox, by which known enemy agents were to be rounded up as soon as war broke out. The select arrest list compiled by MI5 included Arthur Owens, whose own 18B Order was issued
within hours of German troops crossing the Polish border. The Branch had missed him in Morden, while illicit transmissions were difficult to pinpoint, B1A having found that the balloon barrage now
floating above London served to distort radio signals. Nonetheless, it seemed that it would be only a matter of time before the ‘political cops’ from Scotland Yard located Owens at the
Surbiton bolt-hole thoughtfully provided by Alex Myner.
Everywhere events moved quickly. The governments of France, Australia, New Zealand and India joined Britain in declaring war on Germany, while Holland, Belgium, Denmark and Spain declared strict
neutrality. Seeking to preserve his own non-aligned freedom, at noon on Monday Owens called Bill Gagen and arranged to meet him at Waterloo station at four o’clock. ‘He stated he wished
to offer his services to the British government,’ the Special Branch inspector wrote, ‘but declined to reveal his address.’
Snow knew full well that this meeting was a calculated risk. Travelling into central London with Lily, he told her to keep her distance on the crowded concourse at Waterloo, and warned what to
do next if the Branch failed to greet their star double agent with chocolates and flowers. These fears proved well founded. After Owens again refused to confirm his address, Gagen placed the Little
Man under arrest, then bundled him into a shiny Vauxhall saloon and sped him directly to Wandsworth gaol.
A grim Victorian complex south of the river, Wandsworth was the largest prison in London by some measure, able toaccommodate more than fifteen hundred inmates and with a
working gallows still in situ on E
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