“Will I still be working in my old hut, sir?”
“No, of course not. As I said, this is just between the two of us. Nobody else must know. It’s quite possible there are sympathisers here, at Bletchley.”
“Really?”
“One can’t be naïve, Lady Pamela. The Abwehr is not stupid. They will attempt to infiltrate sympathisers wherever they can. So you see the need for complete secrecy.”
“Of course. But what am I to say to the chaps I was working with if I meet them in the cafeteria? What about my roommate?”
“You tell them you’ve been seconded for a special assignment with Commander Travis because he says he likes to see a pretty face doing the filing.”
She had to laugh at this. “So I’ll be working here?”
“You will. I’m making a room on the top floor available. And you report to me and to me only. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. I hope I can live up to your expectations,” she said. “I’m to be working alone, then?”
“No, you will have one colleague working with you. A very bright young man who will be checking out other German broadcasts for possible coded messages. I hope you’ll help each other in discovering possibly coded messages among the harmless ones, and then being able to break those codes.”
When Pamela said nothing, he added, “I have full confidence in you. I think you’re the right person for this job.”
“When do you want me to start?” she asked.
He smiled, making his severe face look positively human for a second. “No time like the present, Lady Pamela.”
Pamela left his office and went up another flight of stairs to the designated room on the top floor. This had clearly been a servant’s quarters. The hallway was not wood-panelled, and it had a disused feel to it, dusty and stuffy. She opened the door, then let out a little gasp because there was a movement to her right. A tall, gangly fellow jumped up from the table at which he was sitting.
“Golly, you made me jump,” Pamela said, laughing now. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here. You must be my partner in crime.”
He came around the table, holding out his hand to her. “Froggy Bracewaite,” he said. “And you’re Lady Pamela Sutton.”
“Correct,” she said. “I take it your name isn’t really Froggy.”
“To the top brass, I have to answer to Reginald,” he said. “But I was dubbed ‘Froggy’ at Winchester, and it has stuck. And you may not remember, but we’ve met before. I believe I danced with you at one of the deb balls during your season. You probably still have the bruises to prove it.”
“I thought you looked familiar,” she said. “And I’m sure you weren’t the only partner to tread on my toes during that season. They give girls dancing lessons but never think of doing the same for their partners. Speaking of which, I’m so glad we’re to be working together. This whole thing sounds horribly daunting, and I wouldn’t have liked to tackle it alone.”
“You must be really bright, or they’d never have asked a woman to do this,” he said. “In case you haven’t noticed, the men get all the plum jobs here, and the women are stuck with the clerical stuff, even though they are often better qualified.”
“I was one of the lucky ones,” Pamela said. “I was doing something quite interesting. But not actual code breaking. I’ve no idea how to even start doing that. You’ll have to teach me.”
He pointed to teleprinter printouts on the table. “The first batch of transcripts have been sent over from station Y,” he said. “Let’s have a look together, and I may be able to show you what we might be looking for.”
They stood together at the table. Pamela’s eyes scanned the first page.
Dear friends in Britain. We are sorry that your thoughtless government is making you suffer needlessly. The invasion will go ahead as planned and there is nothing you can do to stop the might of the German Wehrmacht. But those who assist us, who make us welcome, will find that it will be a smooth transition and life will quickly return to normal. Lights will come on again, pubs and cinemas will reopen. There will be plenty of food again.
“What rubbish,” Pamela exclaimed, making Froggy chuckle. “Surely nobody can believe this?” she asked.
“You’d be surprised,” he replied. “Especially when you hear news items like this.” He pointed lower down the page.
The Bank of England is perpetuating a giant fraud on the people of Britain. The pound note has actually become worthless and the government is printing . . .
They read on. Reports on the number of British ships sunk. Cargo ships that would never reach British shores with food supplies. Britain would soon face starvation. And yet there was a secret store of food in the cellars under Whitehall so that the members of the government and those in power still eat well, while the average worker has to exist on bread made from sawdust.
After the depressing and deceptive news bulletins, there came purposed messages from British servicemen held captive in German stalags.
From Sergeant Jimmy Bolton, RAF Hornchurch, and now a prisoner at Stalag sixteen. To his wife, Minnie. “Don’t worry about me, old girl. I am in good health and being fed and taken care of here. Chin up and I’ll be home soon.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I was his wife,” Froggy muttered.
Pamela nodded. “All very insidious and depressing,” she said, “but I don’t see anything that seems like a coded message. There is nothing like ‘The hedgehog comes out at midnight’ that I had expected to find.”
He laughed. “The Germans are quite sophisticated with their codes. Let’s see if the first letters of any sentence spell any useful words.”
They did that, but drew a blank. They tried similar combinations—the second sentence of every bulletin. Proper names of the purported prisoners.
“I suppose Bolton is a place,” Pamela suggested.
Froggy shook his head. “But Sims and Johnson aren’t, are they? I must say that nothing leaps out at me so far. No repeated words or phrases. We might have to see several days’ worth of transcripts to determine if phrases are repeated at the same time each day.”
By the end of the first day, Pamela felt that they had overestimated her capabilities, and she would soon be found lacking and sent back to her unit in disgrace.
When she arrived home, Trixie was waiting for her. “So what was it all about? Do tell? Did Commander Travis give you a slap on the wrist?”
“No, nothing like that,” Pamela said. “It was just to move me to a new division. We were overstaffed where I was, and they needed extra help with the office work at the big house. As Commander Travis put it, he likes to see a pretty face around the place.”
Trixie shook her head. “Men!” she said. “Wouldn’t it be funny if a woman said ‘Hire a young man, I like to see rippling muscles around the place.’”
Pamela laughed. “I’m sure some women in positions of authority do think that way. But I have to say I’m glad to be out of that hut. If the big noises work in the main house, you can bet that it will be heated properly in winter. And I’m close enough to the cafeteria to pop over during my breaks.”