A Codemaker's War

Special Operations Executive (SOE)

The personnel officer who screened me at 64 Baker Street conducted the entire interview in the mistaken belief that I was closely related to Sir Simon Marks, the head of Marks & Spencer -- an illusion which I was careful to encourage. It took me a little while to grasp what the "potty outfit" was after from the great outfitters.

The answer was space.

The largest of the many buildings which SOE occupied in and around Baker Street was Michael House -- which had been the headquarters of Marks & Spencer. SOE badly needed extra canteen facilities in Michael House and only Marks & Spencer could grant them. The personnel officer made it clear that Sir Simon had already proved to be a most accommodating landlord and SOE was reluctant to impose upon him further.

If I was decoding the gist correctly, he was trying to assess whether I was suitably disposed to use my good offices to canvass even better ones. Unfortunately I had never met Sir Simon -- but even more unfortunately, I had met, and couldn't stop meeting, his only son Michael, the heir-presumptive to the kingdom of M & S. We had had the incinerating experience of going to several schools together, including St Paul's, of being put in the same classes, and of being mistaken for brothers. We had finally tossed a coin (his) to decide which of us would change his name, an arrangement which he failed to honour. The princeling had not been a bit impressed when his father named Michael House after him, but he'd woken up sharply when Sir Simon offered him a cash bonus for every unwrapped orange he found in a Marks & Spencer store. I imparted these "hot" family titbits to the enthralled personnel officer, and before he could enquire where Leo House was I assured him that I would nudge Sir Simon in the right direction the next time we dined together. A few days after this solemn undertaking "Uncle Simon" volunteered the canteen facilities, which did no harm at all to my SOE scorecard. Marks & Spencer's greatest asset always was its timing.

I was also interviewed, skilfully and inscrutably, by Captain Dansey, the head of Codes, who indicated that he would think me over. A week later I signed the Official Secrets Act and was told to report to Dansey at nine in the morning.

On that last day of my innocence the personnel officer beamingly confirmed that I was to receive the equivalent of a second lieutenant's pay and then added, as tactfully as he was able, that my employment would be subject to review at the end of the month.

He was wrong again.

It was to be subject to review at the end of one day.

SOE's code department and teleprinter rooms occupied the whole of a mews building at the back of Michael House and I had my first glimpse of the wonders of Danseyland when an armed escort took me on an intensive route march to the captain's office, where I was handed over like a parcel of dubious content in exchange for an official receipt. This was standard SOE procedure for those who had yet to be issued with passes.

The sharp-eyed captain and his jovial deputy, Lieutenant Owen, explained that SOE's main function was dropping agents into Europe, and that my job would be to "keep an eye on the security of their codes." They then decided to test their new boy's ability. I was handed a message in code, put into an adjacent room and left there to break it. I knew from the little they had said about the code that it was one of the first Bedford had taught us to crack. If I risked no short cuts I should reach the code's jugular by the end of the day.

Dansey came in half an hour later to see if I'd finished but I was still taking a frequency count (this is the cryptographic equivalent of feeling a pulse). He looked at me with a hint of disappointment -- then smiled encouragingly and went out. It was then ten o'clock.

An hour later he was back again. The code's pulse was regular. Dansey's wasn't. "Marks," he said softly.

"Sir?"

"Do you know how long it took my girls to crack that code?... twenty minutes."

"Sir, it takes me thirty just to clean my glasses."

I hoped he was joking. He closed the door behind him and I knew that he wasn't.

At one o'clock Lieutenant Owen put his head round the door, watched the poor struggler as long as he could bear to, and said I was free to go to lunch if I wished. I didn't.

At four o'clock a bespectacled young lady put some tea on my desk. She departed hastily with each eye laughing at a different joke.

At a quarter to five I knocked on the door of Dansey's office and put the decoded message in front of him.

Dansey and Owen sat in silence. They were in mourning for their judgement. I knew I had failed and hoped it wouldn't prevent them from giving someone competent a chance. I thanked my ex-bosses for my tea and turned to go.

"Leave the code here, please."

"What code, sir?"

Dansey closed his eyes but they continued glaring. "The code you broke it with!"

"You didn't give me one, sir."

"What the hell are you talking about? How did you decode that message if I didn't give you one?"

"You told me to break it, sir."

He was one of the few people who could look efficient with his mouth open. "You mean you broke it," he said, as if referring to his heart, "without a code?"

I had always understood that was what breaking a code meant, but this was no time for semantics. "How was I expected to do it, sir?"

"The way the girls do, with all the bumph in front of them. A straightforward job of decoding, that's all I was after! So we could test your speed. And compare it with theirs."

"You mean, sir -- that SOE is actually using this code?"

"We were," said Owen. "We have others now."

They looked at each other. Something seemed to occur to them simultaneously. They operated like two ends of a teleprinter.

"Come with us, Marks."

The three of us crowded into my workroom, which by now resembled an indoor tobacco plantation. Dansey didn't smoke. After a few moments of intensive rummaging he lifted a pyramid of papers and pointed to a blue card with a code typed on it in capital letters. He smiled as he held it up. His efficiency was vindicated.

I walked up to him till I was level with the pips on his shoulder. I had a request to make and, for the first time in far too long, it wasn't wholly self-interested. "May I see those other codes, sir?"

Copyright © 1998 by Leo Marks. All rights reserved. Converted for the Web with the permission of Simon & Schuster.