Edward Wilson: Portrait of the Spy as a Young Man

‘You can be sure of that. There is, however, one proviso. Once you volunteer, there is no backing out. If you change your mind, fail the selection process or don’t complete the training course, you will be kept in a secret internment camp for the rest of the war. No one must know that this unit even exists. What is your answer?’

‘I will, sir, volunteer.’

‘Good.’ The colonel handed over a sealed envelope. ‘You will find a travel voucher and further instructions in there. And, may I remind both of you, this meeting never happened.’

As Catesby saluted and left the office, he felt exhilarated by the adventure facing him. He also felt a glow of warmth for the soldiers he would be leaving behind. Catesby had gone into the colonel’s office expecting a reprimand for the drainage ditch business, but it had never been mentioned. The men had covered up for him.

Whether by coincidence or design Catesby found himself sharing a train carriage with Ewan on the trip to London for his SOE interview. They were alone in the compartment. Ewan, dressed in civilian clothes, was reading a copy of an arts magazine called Apollo. Catesby put his kitbag on the overhead rack and took out a copy of the East Anglian Daily Times.

As he settled down with his newspaper Catesby whispered, ‘We mustn’t talk if anyone joins us. I don’t think we’re allowed to show that we know each other.’

‘I’m not sure. I still haven’t completed all my training.’

‘Are you with SOE too?’

‘Good god, no. I’m in the Intelligence Corps – which isn’t nearly that hush-hush. We openly flaunt our IC cap badges and insignia.’

Catesby was a little ashamed that he hadn’t noticed Ewan’s different insignia in the colonel’s office. ‘So, you’re not with the Suffolks?’

‘I haven’t been for quite a while. Six months ago, I saw a notice asking for people with a knowledge of languages to volunteer for the Intelligence Corps. I thought that would be more interesting than the infantry, so I applied. The colonel was annoyed at losing his dogsbody.’

Catesby looked puzzled. ‘So if you’re no longer with the Suffolks, why were you in the colonel’s office when I was being interviewed?’

‘Ah, that is hush-hush.’ Ewan smiled. ‘But, as a fellow Suffolk boy, I’ll tell you anyway. As odd as it may sound, the arts and the army overlap a lot more than you would guess. When I volunteered for the Intelligence Corps I got in touch with a friend called Anthony Blunt. He used to be my tutor at the Courtauld. I thought Anthony could give me some useful tips as he had been in Military Intelligence himself. In fact, his own Field Security unit were the last to escape from Boulogne before it fell to the Germans. His escape is an interesting story – but I probably shouldn’t tell you about it.’

‘Go on, we’re Suffolk boys.’

‘It doesn’t show Anthony in a very good light. The Second Panzer Division had already captured Boulogne. His section had been given an order to evacuate the port three days earlier, but Anthony didn’t seem aware of it. In the end, the evacuate message got picked up by his batman who roused Anthony from his slumbers and told him he was under orders to get his section to the docks immediately. By now his soldiers were on the verge of mutiny and ready to shoot him and go to the docks on their own. They were, literally, the last British soldiers left in the port. They managed to persuade the captain of a small coaster to take them to Dover. They then had to wait four hours for high tide – fortifying themselves with the ship’s rum. They left Boulogne harbour under fire using the hulk of a burning oil tanker for cover.’ Ewan paused. ‘In any case, he is now out of uniform and works in Room 055 at the War Office.’

‘Very interesting,’ said Catesby, ‘but I don’t see what this story has to do with me – and what’s Room 055?’

‘Oh dear,’ said Ewan, ‘me and my big mouth. I shouldn’t be in the Intelligence Corps. Please forget I ever mentioned Room 055.’

‘I promise. By the way, if it isn’t top secret, what are your Suffolk connections?’

‘Not secret at all. My family have a small farm near Halesworth. My wife and son were evacuated there during the Blitz.’

‘I’ve got family near there who are farm workers.’

Ewan looked out the window with an embarrassed expression. ‘I realise that I come from a privileged background.’

‘It was tactless of me to play the working-class card.’

Ewan smiled. ‘Don’t apologise. It can be a useful card to play – or at least have on your CV.’

Catesby was beginning to enjoy the game and said, ‘Room 055.’

‘You got it. You were talent spotted and your file was passed on to Anthony Blunt in Room 055.’

Catesby felt a small shudder of alarm. ‘Who spotted me?’

‘I don’t know – I guess it was someone at Cambridge.’

Catesby did a quick mental inventory of fellow students and dons, but couldn’t find a face that fitted. He shrugged and said, ‘I was a member of the Labour Club.’

‘That would have helped. Anthony does prefer lefties. I’m a bit of one myself.’ Ewan smiled. ‘In fact, the Courtauld is full of them. We even have a bomb thrower.’

‘Good god.’

‘Well not very big bombs. A chap in the photography department worked out a way of turning lab chemicals into little bombs to throw at Mosley’s Blackshirts.’

‘I’d go along with that. The Blackshirts are scum.’

‘You would have got on fine at the Institute. But you weren’t talent spotted for the Courtauld, you were spotted for SOE – and maybe SIS.’ Ewan paused. ‘I shouldn’t say this, but I have seen your file.’

Catesby leaned forward. ‘Well, I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t want to know what was in it.’

Ewan gave a sly smile. ‘To be honest there were many candidates who were far more impressive – and more experienced.’

‘Thanks.’

‘But you ticked all the criteria. You’re a linguist. You’re physically fit; your politics are sound for fighting the Nazis – and you can get lost in a crowd. If you don’t mind my saying so, you are a bit mousy: medium height and brown hair. You could pass for a native of any European country other than Scandinavia. And the person who spotted you also thinks you are a good mimic who can imitate the voices and manners of others. When you arrived at Cambridge, he said you were obviously a grammar school boy from the sticks – but by the end of your first term, you could pass as a minor public schoolboy, not a very rich one, but one suitably louche and ironic.’

‘It was Basil, the medieval French don, wasn’t it?’

‘I can’t say. But Room 055 were impressed by your ability to adapt to your environment. And a grand bonus in recruiting you is that, underneath your self-applied camouflage, you are impeccably working class. It’s important that SOE doesn’t become a playground for toffs who like a bit of danger.’

Catesby looked out the train window. It was a dreary day. Part of him wanted to go back to the drudgery of the infantry. He didn’t like being manipulated by puppet masters in the shadows. But like it or not, it would become his vocation.

‘I hope, sir, I haven’t said too much.’

‘Please don’t call me sir. It’s absurd.’

‘The army has its quaint customs, but the good thing about the Intelligence Corps in London is that you can live a quasi-civilised life. Our office is just around the corner from the National Gallery where Myra Hess gives her lunchtime piano concerts. I’ve also managed to resume some of my AIA activities – but I have to be discreet.’

‘What is the AIA?’

‘The Artists International Association – which also has a somewhat lefty reputation. All the better, in my view, to fight fascism – but not everyone agrees.’ Ewan paused and lowered his voice. ‘You ought to know about the vetting system because you will soon be going through it. It’s a background check to verify people for sensitive posts. I’m surprised that I got through it.’ Ewan laughed. ‘Ironically, my own job is now in the recruiting section – and I’ve seen letters from MI5 rejecting people on very slender grounds, such as sympathy to the Republicans during the Spanish Civil War. But MI5 was bombed at the beginning of the Blitz and most of its records on suspect lefties were destroyed. In fact, the Luftwaffe might have helped me get my current job – and helped Anthony get his too. But he’s so well connected, it probably wouldn’t have mattered. Anthony is a cousin of the Queen.’