Albion Dreaming

by Andy Roberts

  Following Sandoz’ decision in 1966 to cease the supply of LSD, Powick Hospital’s Chief Medical Superintendent Arthur Spencer wrote a strongly worded letter to the British Medical Journal. Spencer railed against Sandoz, claiming that their action to terminate the supply of LSD without notice had left many patients midway through a course of treatment. A Dr. S.E. Browne wrote to the BMJ to point out that LSD therapy was the only form of psychotherapy available to those on a limited income. Browne wrote: “Some patients being treated with lysergic acid are, in fact, fighting for their lives; treatment has already been stopped of patients who were responding very well to lysergic acid after all possible forms of physical therapy had failed.”

  Browne’s final paragraph starkly highlighted what many have seen as the essential inequality of the laws against LSD, “What seems to me an extraordinary state of affairs is that any doctor can (and some still do) prescribe amphetamines, the use of which is therapeutically unjustifiable because of the danger of addiction and psychosis, while a potentially life-saving drug is withdrawn.” These feelings were echoed by a trio of doctors who wrote to the BMJ from West Park Hospital in Surrey, who claimed: “It will be unfortunate if LSD becomes available only for ‘kicks’ and not for serious psychotherapeutic endeavour.”30

  These pleas notwithstanding, the era of LSD psychotherapy in Britain was rapidly ending. After Ronnie Sandison left Powick, Spencer found a new source of the drug and continued working with it until the mid-1970s. A few other therapists continued work with LSD but the constant media vilification made its use as a psychotherapeutic tool increasingly unfashionable, if not professionally untenable. A CV that boasted years of LSD aided psychotherapy was unlikely to help anyone’s career in the climate engendered by the media’s vigorous defamation of psychedelic drugs. Psychiatric medicine was moving away from what it considered to be contentious, possibly unreliable therapies. The aggressive marketing of the large pharmaceutical companies was funnelling psychiatry towards a culture of prescribing other drugs for depression, anxiety and conditions for which LSD therapy had proved effective.

  Though high profile medical practitioners such as Ronnie Laing, who arguably had other agendas to pursue on the back of his personal and professional LSD use, continued to use and champion LSD, by the mid-Seventies therapy with LSD had ceased completely in Britain, its use quickly regarded as something of an archaic curio. It wouldn’t be until the first decade of the twenty-first century that the idea of LSD as a viable therapeutic tool would be taken seriously again.

  The heyday of LSD therapy in Britain had spanned fourteen years. During that time large sums of taxpayers’ money had been used to fund what amounted to a unique experiment. Throughout those halcyon years the LSD psychotherapists believed they were alone in their use of the consciousness altering drug. But Sandison and his colleagues had been unaware that another strand of work with LSD had been running parallel, but completely separate, to theirs. At the same time as the psychotherapists were using LSD to heal aberrant mental states; the British intelligence services and the Ministry of Defence were also using taxpayers’ money to fund LSD research. But rather than a tool for healing, they hoped LSD would provide them with a new weapon with which to destroy the will of combatants on and off the battlefield.

  LSD: A CURE FOR THE COMMON COLD?

  They stick to the old maxim: never apologise, never explain.

  Don Webb1

  In the early 1950s, the future for peace looked bleak. With World War II still a raw memory, the world was now rapidly descending into the Cold War, America and Britain teetering on the brink of hostilities with Russia and the Eastern Bloc countries. We are now all too familiar with the key weapons of the Cold War: nuclear bombs and warheads, supersonic jet fighters and bombers and the concept of mutually assured destruction. Throughout the twentieth century, governments were keen to parade these and other weapons before their citizens, the physical displays of strength intended as reassurance and warning to friend and foe. However, behind the public face of Britain’s military hardware lay a much more sinister cache of armaments, one that the government wanted to remain hidden from the public. These were chemical and biological weapons, one of which was LSD.

  Unfortunately, the government’s refusal to open its files to the general public means the full story of Britain’s LSD tests might well remain hidden forever. Decades of institutional secrecy and an unwillingness to be accountable to the taxpayer have ensured information about this most sensitive of subjects has been withheld at all costs. In recent years, however, a combination of the Freedom of Information Act and persistent lobbying from ex-Forces personnel has lifted the lid on the secrecy surrounding these sinister experiments.

  Exactly what prompted the British government to initiate LSD testing is unclear, although it can be inferred from a number of sources. The CIA took an immediate interest in LSD following World War II and began tests with the drug on military and civilian personnel in 1947. The American and British intelligence services were both convinced that Russia was experimenting with LSD or its analogues to produce a “truth drug” for use in interrogations, and this seems to have been the driving force behind Britain’s decision to carry out experiments with LSD.

  A 1956 MOD report titled “Abreactive Drugs”, prepared for the Defence Research Policy Committee, notes LSD first came to the attention of the Joint Intelligence Bureau (JIB) “some 4 years ago”. This formal discussion about LSD took place during Professor Henry Beecher’s visit to Britain in the spring of 1952. The Harvard Professor of Anaesthesiology had a controversial involvement with psychedelic drugs, having first been involved in secret CIA mescaline experiments in Germany after World War II. Beecher saw a role for these drugs and wanted to spread the word among the Allied intelligence agencies.2

  The British intelligence community were intrigued by the drug but unsure of its potential, and so for further information they contacted one of the only two men in Britain who had any real knowledge of LSD. Joel Elkes was not a member of the intelligence services, but was closely connected to them. During World War II, he had researched human nerve conduction, which placed him at the forefront of research into how chemicals were assimilated in the brain. After the war, scientists at the British Chemical Defence Experimental Establishment at Porton Down supplied Elkes with a variety of chemicals for him to map how they worked within the brain. Elkes already had the necessary scientific background and direct experience of LSD, so it was logical for the JIB to approach him for advice.

  Elkes had founded Birmingham University’s Department of Experimental Psychiatry in 1951. A mercurial character, in the Fifties Elkes acted as both advisor to the intelligence services, while also being instrumental in the developing field of LSD psychotherapy, playing a crucial role in assisting Ronnie Sandison to obtain funding for the LSD therapy unit at Powick Hospital in 1956 (see Chapter 3). The JIB could have approached Sandison, but he did not have Elkes’ research credentials or any previous experience of working with the intelligence services. Whatever Elkes told the JIB, it gave them the confidence to investigate LSD further and, later in 1952, the Porton Down military facility was commissioned by the Secret Intelligence Services (SIS), better known as MI6, to run Britain’s first military LSD tests.

  Porton Down, home to Britain’s Defence Science and Technology Laboratory, lies on Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire. Since opening in 1916, the top secret, secure establishment has carried out research into a wide variety of chemical weapons on behalf of Britain’s military and intelligence agencies. At the close of World War II, the Allies discovered that the Germans were far more advanced in chemical weapon development than was thought and had developed several nerve agents. On the basis that some of this knowledge would have been discovered and developed by Russian intelligence services, the thrust of work at Porton during the Fifties was on nerve agents such as Sarin and the riot control chemical, CS. A battery of tests was designed to measure the effects and resistance of these chemicals a
gents on service personnel who were attracted to the facility as volunteers, with the promise of extra pay and time off from their normal duties. It was against this broader backdrop of chemical warfare research, that the MI6 LSD tests at Porton Down were organised.3

  Porton scientists realised the only way to observe LSD’s effect on humans was to administer the drug to volunteers and monitor the results. Basic information about the action of LSD on human physiology and psychology was required to act as terms of reference for the tests and an early summary of the drug’s effects on the human body appeared in a March 1953 paper prepared by the MOD’s Chemical Defence Advisory Board. The report cites research done in America by Rinkel which predates the earliest human LSD experiments in Britain. 4

  Using the term “volunteer” to describe those who took part in LSD experiments at Porton Down is actually a misnomer. None of the participants was told what drug they would be taking, or what its effects might be. In reality the “volunteers” were all dupes, conned into taking a powerful mind-altering chemical in strange and unfamiliar circumstances. Porton Down scientists seem to have chosen to ignore the Nuremberg Code for human experimentation, failing to ensure that the volunteers gave informed consent before the tests.

  The source of the LSD used in the 1953–54 trials at Porton Down is unknown. In 1953, the only known manufacturer of the drug was Sandoz in Basel, Switzerland. Porton Down now claims to have no record of the source of the LSD used in these early tests, stating, “The Defence Science and Technology Laboratory has reviewed its archive holdings and has been unable to locate any information relating to the manufacture or supply of LSD during the time period to which you refer.”5

  Initial tests on human subjects at Porton Down began sometime in early 1953, and were carried out “... in the context of the cold war”. Thirty-seven volunteers, all ordinary ranks from various branches of the armed services took part in LSD trials at Porton in 1953, each being given varying doses of the drug of between 50–100 μg. Volunteers underwent medical examinations prior to the tests but their psychological fitness was not assessed. This might seem odd, considering the nature of the drug they were to be given, but it merely reflects the paucity of knowledge even Porton Down scientists had about the effects of LSD.6

  Naval rating Derek Channon was 23 in 1953 when he volunteered for the tests at Porton. All he knew was that he was to be a human “guinea pig”. On the morning of the trial Channon was given an LSD-soaked sugar cube to swallow, though the Porton Down scientists omitted to tell him what drug he was taking. He then “... sat in a darkened room where they showed a kaleidoscope on the wall. I could see tigers and God knows what in this thing. They were coming at you like a 3-D cinema. It was quite vivid. It was frightening. I will never forget it.”7

  In 1954, a second series of LSD trials was carried out on service personnel and Porton Down staff to establish whether the drug could be useful as a “truth drug”. Five servicemen volunteered for tests at Porton. None were told at any time what drug would be tested on them.

  For nineteen-year-old Royal Navy radio operator Eric Gow, the offer on the poster on the wall of the canteen at Devonport’s Royal Navy Signal School seemed too good to be true. The poster was recruiting volunteers to take part in a research programme to find a cure for the common cold. “It stated we would receive leave and additional pay of ten shillings” remembered Gow. He immediately volunteered, and in January 1954 found himself at Porton Down.

  When he and his colleagues arrived they were asked to sign the Official Secrets Act, but nothing was said about the nature of the research programme for which they had volunteered. Gow and his friend were separated from the other sixteen volunteers and taken to an office in the main building. There, they were introduced to a man they took to be a doctor. He said he would like them to carry out some tests, after which he would give them something to drink and they could repeat the tests. The only hint of what was to come was the doctor’s comment that they might find the second round of tests “difficult”. Gow, young and cocky, thought: That’s what you think.

  He found the first set of tests simple and quickly completed them. All he had to do was write his name and address on a sheet of paper, add three sets of numbers and walk in a pattern around some chairs in another room. This was almost too easy, he thought. Then the doctor “... pushed two sherry glasses towards us across the desk and I remember he used the expression ‘bottoms up’. We both drank the clear liquid (it had a peculiar taste).”

  The effects of the drug came on fast, dramatically affecting Gow’s perception of the world. He remembers a kaleidoscope of imagery: “I suddenly saw the large old-fashioned radiator behind the man start to shrink and expand like a concertina. The brown lino of the office had heel marks that were spinning like Catherine wheels.” Gow tried to do the simple tests again. This time his name and address filled a whole sheet of foolscap writing paper. Adding three sets of numbers together posed another problem. He could add the first two easily enough but no matter how hard he tried, he could not factor in the third number.

  Gow isn’t sure if he managed to do the third test with the chairs because his next memory is of him and his friend on a bicycle, “giggling like mad and riding up and down the corridors of the building”. There seemed to be little control over the experiment and nor were there any further questions from the doctor, who appeared to have just vanished. Later that day Gow and his friend were sitting in the canteen, still hallucinating, his friend “... laughing his head off at a packet of soap powder dancing along the shelf”. Left to their own devices the hallucinating duo went into a telephone box to phone a taxi, Gow noticing that each of the little windows had technicoloured pictures in them: “There were cowboys chasing Indians in one, just like a film. Others were kaleidoscopic in nature.”

  Gow’s next recollection is that they were at a dance, in nearby Salisbury, in their Wellingtons: “I don’t think we got a date that night.” Later in the trip, after walking along country roads lobbing snowballs at signs, they wandered into the RAF camp at Old Sarum where they were put up for the night in the cells, given breakfast in the morning and driven back to Porton Down. Other than the first few minutes of the experience Gow believes they were unsupervised, allowed to wander where they wanted, even leaving Porton Down unchallenged.

  In retrospect, their escape from the LSD experiment probably saved them from having a much worse experience. As Gow puts it, “I do not think I had any fear, it was more like being completely free and wild,” a feeling many LSD users in the counter culture would soon come to know.8

  The exact reason for Gow’s time at Porton was omitted from his official Navy records. Indeed, although he served in the Navy until 1960, no one ever mentioned what had happened to him. It was as though his disorientating experience had never taken place. For the next five decades, though, it would rarely be far from his thoughts.

  The refusal by MI6 to release their files on the 1953–54 LSD tests has made it difficult to obtain a full picture of how the tests were structured and what conclusions were reached. Nor has there been any official statement to explain why these early tests were discontinued. However, a significant clue exists in the unpublished autobiography of Porton Down scientist Harry Collumbine, who wrote of the Fifties experiments: “We stopped the trials ... when it was reported that in a few people it might produce suicidal tendencies.”9

  The existence of the Porton Down LSD tests in the Fifties was hidden from the British public until 2002. The government’s obsession with secrecy for its own sake led at first to a complete denial the tests had ever taken place, a denial that was only withdrawn when legal pressure was brought to bear. Despite the denials, there was already evidence in the public domain that the tests took place. When ex-MI5 operative Peter Wright’s memoir Spycatcher was published in 1985, it was immediately banned in Britain. In the book, Wright had revealed: “The whole area of chemical research was an active field in the 1950s. I was co-operating with MI6 in a jo
int programme to investigate how far the hallucinatory drug LSD could be used in interrogations, and extensive trials took place at Porton. I even volunteered as a guinea pig on one occasion.”10

  When the MOD was confronted with Wright’s allegation in 1997 they claimed staff at Porton Down could not find any record of the 1953–54 tests. This was most probably because the SIS had removed all files pertaining to the early LSD trials carried out at their behest. However, they cleverly anticipated any future problems by referring to another document which they said “... indicates that some work on LSD may have occurred prior to 1961.”11

  Wright and his colleagues in the intelligence services appear to have concluded that LSD was of little use as an aid to interrogation or as a “truth drug”, and MI6 sponsored tests were abandoned in 1954. The MOD’s interest, though, continued and the subject of LSD was once again on the agenda in 1955. The discussion paper referred to a report made by the Canadian Directorate of Scientific Intelligence, which suggested that “... LSD 25 had a marked effect which might be a factor of some importance in war and it was suggested that this substance might be used in the role of a more or less conventional CW (Chemical Warfare) agent.” In view of this, a meeting held on 7 July agreed to pursue the matter and the JIB held further meetings in July and November 1955.12

  Professor Joel Elkes attended the 23 November meeting, once again indicating the depth of his involvement with, and influence on, the British intelligence community. Elkes described the reactions to a dose of 50–100 μg of LSD in subjects, “quite unaware they had been given anything”. Oddly, there is no mention in the archives of Elkes’ Department of Experimental Psychiatry to suggest that LSD was tested on unwitting subjects, yet Elkes’ statement indicates such tests took place. One possibility is that he could have been referring to the 1953–54 SIS tests or making an oblique reference to tests run at the Department of Experimental Psychiatry.