Greene’s identity card for Sierra Leone
7
School for Spies
In the final analysis a spy has no protection but the faith of his friends.
– B. PAGE, D. LEITCH AND P. KNIGHTLEY
IN APRIL 1941 Greene knew that the gravity of the war demanded more of him than being the literary editor of a distinguished journal, and that he could not remain a civilian under troubled London skies much longer. He hinted as much to his mother: ‘Now they are conscripting for police and firemen, I may find myself not a private in the Guards after all.’1 But conscription into the police or Auxiliary Fire Service would not have been greatly different from the dangers faced daily as an air-raid warden. In any case, unbeknown to his mother, Greene had been considering the possibility of joining MI6 as an intelligence officer. A letter in December 1940 to Anthony Powell revealed that he had conceived an ambition ‘to do Free French propaganda in French Guinea and the Ivory Coast from a base in Liberia’, but he had not been contacted.
Yet moves were afoot. His younger sister, Elisabeth, already in Intelligence, had pressed her brother’s case. She was secretary to Cuthbert Bowlby, then regional head of the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS/MI6) in the Middle Eastern theatre. Malcolm Muggeridge reported Elisabeth Greene’s influence in his autobiography: ‘We [Greene and Muggeridge] hoped that she would recommend us both to her boss as suitable overseas representatives, and be able to pull the requisite strings to get us accepted.’2
MI6 was slow to accept Greene, which was surprising since his uncle, Sir Graham Greene, was one of the founders of Naval Intelligence in the First World War, and was still, at a great age, involved in Intelligence in the Second. What probably delayed the process was that Greene’s eldest brother, Herbert, the black sheep of the family, had acted as an agent for Japanese Intelligence prior to the war and had provided them with information of a minor kind about naval matters (information, it must be added, mostly taken from published journals). Herbert, for a time, successfully duped the Japanese, and incidentally provided himself with needed pocket money – £50 monthly. In December 1937 there appeared in the British communist newspaper an article headlined, ‘I WAS IN THE PAY OF JAPAN: A SECRET AGENT TELLS HIS STORY TO THE DAILY WORKER.’3 What Herbert had hoped to do by making these very minor revelations, was provide publicity for his book Secret Agent in Spain which had recently appeared.
But Greene was not being ignored. Initially, he didn’t realise the meaning of the many parties given by a man he called the ‘mysterious Mr. Smith’ to which he had been invited. In spite of the blitz and rationing, there was never a lack of liquor at Smith’s parties and everybody seemed to know each other.4 Greene was being vetted. The ‘mysterious Mr. Smith’ was known as ‘Smith of China’ because his business wealth had originated from China. He was renowned for his parties, which often began one night and were still going the next. They were used to bring suitable civilians into the SIS: ‘Your name was mentioned,’ Rodney Dennys told me, ‘and you’d be invited to a Smith party to allow certain SIS men to look you over privately.’fn1, 5
On 20 August 1941 Greene told his mother he was going out to West Africa for the Colonial Service, a comment insufficient to alert her as to the nature of his job. He gave notice to the Spectator and mentioned to his mother that he’d not be leaving for West Africa for two or three months but would work in London first.
Greene was sensitive to his mother’s fears about the war, and aware that both he and Elisabeth would soon be leaving the country. He tried to assuage her anxieties by making an unlikely prognostication about when the war would end: ‘I’m afraid your family is being rather scattered, but I feel myself that the war will be over by next autumn and that we’ll all be back again by Christmas 1942.’ He added that Elisabeth would be much safer in Cairo than in her London apartment in Vauxhall Bridge Road. He also tried to give his mother the sense that her children were in close contact: ‘I lunched with E. yday: she’s looking very well I thought, and I’m seeing Hugh tonight and Raymond on Thursday. Much love in all this haste.’6
To his mother he admitted feeling the rather agonising conflict between his responsibilities to his family and the appeal of an interesting, well-paid job, but argued that if he had waited to be called up he might have gone abroad under far less happy circumstances.7 It may be that leaving his family was disturbing Greene, but he did not make enough effort (according to Vivien) to see them since the war began. Probably more troublesome to him was that he was leaving Dorothy Glover. However, the fact that the ‘shadow of a private’s pay – or even a lieutenant’s – was raised’ attracted Greene and meant he’d be able to leave his family without financial worries.
Vivien was unhappy about his decision to go abroad, though she expressed her opposition in feline fashion and her threats were not intended to bear much weight. She may even have felt that his departure from England might be a godsend if it led to the end of his affair with Dorothy:
I do love my precious Stripey. I love his ruff & the rings round his turn & his sensitive whiskers & luminous pale eyes, & consider myself lost without him. Would object therefore (but with a hopeless sense that my objections would be merely swept aside) to Stripey going to a foreign clime: only punishment in my power would be NOT TO WRITE TO HIM. There.8
Vivien’s babyish opposition melted and soon she was fussing over her husband, advising him to fix up with someone about the injections well beforehand, telling him she was unable to find his raincoat, but hoped his suit would do.
By October he was writing to his parents from Oriel College, Oxford, explaining to them that he was back in OTC (as he had been for a while in school), wearing battledress in the morning, and doing stick drill with the officers. An agent recalled watching him and commented how he was everyone’s comic notion of how not to drill (Greene was unable to slope arms). His letters to his parents reveal nothing of his training as an intelligence officer. He wrote only of unimportant matters: ‘Motor byking is a real trial – today, my second go. I got on a little better, fell off less – 1st worse … I shall be a “cripple” this week, inconvenient as I go up to town tomorrow to report.’9 The head of the course had to abandon the idea that Greene would ever be able to learn to ride a motorcycle after he had damaged two.10 Training was strict. He had three periods in the morning, three in the afternoon, took an enormous number of notes and did homework.
*
But what might his training have been to demand that he take voluminous notes? In the British Intelligence Corps Library a memorandum entitled ‘Notes on the Working of Agents’11 has survived, which reveals information the ‘teachers’ at Oriel would have imparted to nascent secret intelligence officers. It presents a strange world where ‘trust’ is on the side of the used agent and not on the side of the intelligence officer; where your informants are expected to provide you with valuable espionage information, but in spite of this, it is your duty to discover something in their past which will give you a hold over them for as long as you need them.
The first step is rather obvious: engage prospective agents in conversation with the object of finding out what type of person they are; i.e., talkative, indifferent or an enthusiast on a particular subject. Proceeding gently to the second step, make small offers of cigarettes or beer and ask very casually for a little information. The questions should be harmless, but of such a nature that the answer will indicate whether they are likely to become an agent or not. An important point to remember is that when the agent is considered reliable, and the information accurate, you must tell the agent the truth in return as far as is consistent with safety.
The paper gives three possible reasons why people give away information: (i) the desire for money; (2) dislike of the person or persons about whom the information is given; (3) desire to try and win a position which would obtain them protection from their own people or police.
The following are examples given of the various types of agents:
; (a) Pacifist informers on militarists or republicans on monarchists, Communists on the police or vice-versa. (b) Agents in the pay of the political police who are ‘put on to’ [a British agent] to find out what [his service] is trying to find out, or in what he is interested. This type may be told to sacrifice some true information in order to gain confidence of [a British agent]. (c) Indiscriminate agents, who are continually asking if there is anything they can do, if there is any information they can provide. This type can be either dangerous or merely annoying. (d) Men of the same type as (b) whose aim is to make friends with [a British agent], offering to give information in order to find out his system of work and facts about the routine of his office. (e) Lastly, there is the casual informer.
The rules for running agents are as sound today as they were then. First, keep the agent’s identity secret to avoid exposure to unnecessary risks. Never give an agent too much money at a time; the spending of it will only draw attention to the agent and to you. Never tell the agent more than he needs to know; there is always a risk that an undesirable person may obtain the information. If possible, the intelligence officer should hide his real identity and address in case it becomes necessary to cut off all communications with the informant. The intelligence officer needs to gain some influence over the agent by finding out something private about him that would disturb him if it got into the hands of the police or his party. It may prove useful later if he tries, or threatens, to go over to the other side.
The memorandum cautions the British agent about situations the agent must try to avoid:
Precautions.
(a) An agent sometimes urges [a GHQ agent] to meet him in some hotel, café, or restaurant, and becomes embarrassing in his demands. Probable reason: There is someone there from the other side, who wants to identify the [GHQ agent] as a [GHQ agent], and your agent is trying to give you away. (b) Whenever possible, do not interview someone, particularly in a discreet enquiry, with a set plan in your head. Certainly try to turn the question round to the subjects in which you are interested, but do not force it. He may be cleverer than you. (c) Try to find out something beforehand about the person to be approached, his interests, etc. (d) Avoid arousing suspicions by doing silly things: e.g. smoking obviously English cigarettes, etc … Once you have made a statement keep to it. Contradictions make you nervous and the agent suspicious. The general principle is to obtain as much information as possible, without giving any away.
From the difficulty I had in deciphering Greene’s shorthand from this period, it appears that he certainly took to heart the following advice: ‘Making notes. Make as few as possible. Write on a newspaper or with a short piece of pencil on a piece of paper in the pocket. Never carry documents likely to connect you with the Army.’ Agents are also cautioned never to trust porters, waiters, or hotel proprietors. When making enquiries in hotels, they must try to make friends with the victim by sitting at the same table with him. They must also intercept the victim’s letters.
The memorandum is filled with other useful pointers:
Do not masquerade as someone about whom you know nothing, i.e. do not say you are a Dutchman unless you speak perfect Dutch; the other man may be one too.
Never use a telephone when speaking to agents. Danger of being overheard or intercepted.
It is easier to get information out of a woman, but more dangerous. Make use of jealousy if possible. Information about one woman through another.
It is difficult to know specifically what Greene was taught, but by studying what is known of the training of the Office of Strategic Services’ (OSS) agents (the forerunner of the CIA), we can establish a general routine, for the Americans modelled their training methods on those used by the older, more experienced intelligence service, the SIS.
No doubt Greene and other trainees at Oriel took notes on how to find and evaluate potential agents to carry out espionage against their own country – local government officials, military personnel, representatives of intelligence agencies opposed to their own. Sometimes, businessmen, students, reporters, even missionaries were used. There would probably be lectures regarding how money might be used to bring about the downfall of another country; how to recognise an anti-Nazi dissident or someone opposed to the Hitler regime; how to use blackmail and exert influence over foreign officials in neutral countries. British agents would be told to look for those officials living beyond their means or with a weakness for alcohol, drugs, or women (or men). Greene would have received training in security precautions, the avoidance and detection of surveillance, the use of specialised equipment, such as miniature cameras, and he would learn new terminology – ‘dead letter drop’, ‘cutouts’, etc.
However, the primary lesson for OSS, CIA, MI5 and MI6 agents was how to live effectively within another identity. A standard training school exercise between novice agents is to fool your colleague – maintaining a false identity and cover is a requisite. Each agent must develop a passion for secrecy, deception and manipulation. These must become second nature.
*
Greene’s family were at Oxford, but he saw little of them, though he did have dinner with his wife on his thirty-seventh birthday: ‘V. & I had dinner in the evening with the Taylors. Otherwise we have rather snatched moments before dinner,’ he wrote to his mother.12
He was still in frequent contact with his literary agent, especially about royalties: ‘As you can imagine I’m keen on gathering in any shekels before my departure.’ He wanted to know whether Heinemann owed him money on the Guild paperback of Stamboul Train and whether they would allow him to transfer England Made Me to Penguin, since they had already sold about 120,000 copies of It’s a Battlefield.13
Greene’s training was rigorous, but he didn’t complete the course, going down with a serious virus: ‘Just getting over an attack of flu in the discomfort & squalor of a military depot,’ he wrote from the North Oxford Nursing Home in Banbury Road.14 That did not prevent his agent, Miss Pearn, seeking him various commissions: the new Strand editor, an admirer of Greene’s, wanted him to inject more humour and satire into the magazine, and enquired whether Greene could provide them with a piece before he left England. Miss Cooper, working for the same agency, wanted to know if he would write a story for Modern Reading: ‘as a great admirer of your work, this editor would very much like to have something more of yours to publish … the editor is definitely prepared to commission a short story of approximately 3,000 words in length, if you feel able to do this.’15
Writing from his hospital bed, Greene advised Miss Cooper to ‘tell Miss Pearn that she must be living in a happy dream world. I am probably leaving for West Africa in about 3 weeks – during which time I have to buy clothes & make all my family arrangements. I shall have no time to write a word before I go.’16
Greene returned to town on 4 November still pretty wobbly on his feet and stayed with Dorothy at Gower Mews: ‘Back in town but not worth very much. My departure has been postponed a little,’ he wrote to Pollinger. Before he left for Africa, he met the film producer Alberto Cavalcanti, and their meeting led to friendship. Cavalcanti wanted to make a film of one of Greene’s stories, expressing an interest in the story ‘The Lieutenant Died Last’. Greene was excited, for here was a means of leaving his family in good financial fettle:
I saw Cavalcanti yesterday who has two feature films to make for Ealing Studios [he wrote to Laurence Pollinger]. I told him about ‘The Lieutenant Died Last’, the story I had in Collier’s and Britannia & Eve, & he seemed very keen on the idea. B&E have had their files destroyed [in the blitz], haven’t they? The only way of tracing it is to let Cavalcanti have the date it appeared in Collier’s … Could you cable Mary [Pritchett] asking her whether she could send us a copy of Collier’s?’17
Finally, Ealing Studios came through, though by that time Greene was already in convoy to West Africa: ‘Thank you very much indeed’, wrote Vivien the day after Christmas to Pollinger, ‘for the good news and the cheque from Ealing Studios.�
�� The film appeared with the title Went the Day Well in 1942. Greene was still in Africa and never saw it. Cavalcanti’s film caused controversy when it was released, no doubt because it showed England being invaded at a time when invasion by Hitler was an ever-present possibility.
Greene went down to the country for a last two weeks to be with his family, though he intended to spend the final few days before departure with Dorothy at Gower Mews. Before leaving, he decided to make a will, asking Pollinger and his brother Raymond to be executors, and leaving all to Vivien. Dorothy was not a beneficiary, though he did throughout their relationship do her various favours. When working for the Ministry of Information, he introduced his lover into the Ministry as his secretary. When Pick sacked him, he persuaded them to put Dorothy in charge of a section: ‘Her job was to get people to do cartoons, caricatures and things. She went on to the end of the war there.’18
One of the last trips Greene took before leaving England was to the army camp in Aldershot. He went with his friend Basil Dean, the head of ENSA troop entertainments, on a lightning tour in the company of the then powerful socialist Minister of Labour in the Churchill government, Ernest Bevin. Greene warmed to Bevin, and recorded in his journal how Bevin innocently pushed into dressing rooms, talking excitedly, ‘I’m Mr. Bevin’ – to the ENSA leading ladies: ‘Very likeable, very unselfconscious.’ In the urinal he said: ‘This reminds me of the old Socialist who said: “Now I’ve really got my hands on the means of production.”’
After dinner, they had champagne at The Anchor at Liphook, and drove back after midnight. What Greene especially remembered was how beautiful it was ‘to see the London guns playing from the outside’.19
He would soon be unable to see ‘London guns playing from the outside’. Across the seas in Africa he would no longer be part of the army of air-raid wardens protecting a London still sporadically under attack. He was leaving his wife, he was leaving his mistress, but his training at the school for spies was over and the apprentice was ready for further training in Africa.
The Life of Graham Greene (1939-1955) Page 12