Communications for the Czechs and Poles
After the fall of France, and until Hitler invaded Russia and declared war on America (both in 1941), Britain was Nazi Germany’s one unconquered enemy. Most of Europe had been taken by Hitler, causing no less than eight European governments (and also de Gaulle’s ‘Free French’) to flee to our islands. A veritable united nations. MI6’s communications section at Whaddon set up communications to support resistance movements in all of their countries.
Two of these countries, however, (Poland and Czechoslovakia) were a bit different. Once Whaddon had installed aerials and communication hardware for them (at Hockcliffe and Stanmore), they staffed those facilities themselves.
Poland was perhaps the most tragic victim of World War Two. Not only did Nazi Germany set out to eradicate it completely as a nation; but Russia, too, fed off its carcass.
The Czechs delivered what was arguably the hardest single blow of all to the Nazi regime when they killed-off Hitler’s foulest and most effective deputy (Reinhard Heydrich). The Czech story is very local to North Buckinghamshire. Their government was at Wingrave and Aston Abbots and their intelligence service, under General Frantisek Moravec, was in the tiny hamlet of Addington. Their tale is profoundly important if one wants to understand the depth of evil of the Nazi regime. I write about Moravec’s master stroke and the consequences for the Czech people in A New World After Pearl.
As I hope that I have shown in this series of articles, The Whaddon Web bursts with profound and instructive stories. This is not dry history; this is the tale of men and women who were prepared to give their very lives to destroy the evil that had engulfed their lands. Men and women fighting – and often dying - to preserve their countries, their families, their sanity.
The pictures here are of the two Czech soldiers who were parachuted from Britain and who killed Heydrich in Prague. They died for their deed.
I cannot do full justice to Whaddon’s ‘customers’ in the small space that I have in this series of articles. Their story should be writ large and their memory honoured. Fiction pales besides their deeds.
Jan Kubiš
Jozef Gabčík
The communications network that MI6’s head of communications, Richard Gambier–Parry, had set up had, in his own words, ‘no rival in the world’. The web of aerials stretched across many, many, hilltops. That the paperwork did not always keep up with this ferment of construction is not surprising: and the bean–counters at MI6’s head office could have shown more forbearance than they did. Gambier–Parry certainly thought so, as his volcanic reply to the paymaster of MI6 (Commander Sykes) in July 1941 shows (he had been accused of poor record keeping):
‘No consideration at all is given to the fact that during the period our annual estimates… tripled… and we were working at the highest pressure, forming a military unit, equipping some 60 technical vehicles, putting up two broadcasting stations and a recording centre, at a speed which many experts would believe impossible, carrying ever–increasing telegraphic traffic, developing the new science of agent communications, coping with SOE communications, carrying an expanding circulation of Polish signals at home and abroad, and endeavouring to contribute to the process of winning the war. But then the auditors wouldn’t want to know what we do in any of these fields. It seems to be of greater importance to them that one order has become entangled with another.’
What was the importance of the Whaddon Web? Of course, in passing information from Bletchley Park to the generals – British, American and Russian – it was crucial to winning the war. But I think it has a greater, moral, claim. Along with the BBC, it gave voice to the oppressed peoples of Europe.
Nowadays we think nothing of sharing thoughts instantaneously around the world. Often we don’t know, nor perhaps care, whether the person we are speaking to online is in Japan, America or South Africa. MI6 started that process. The Whaddon web was the first network through which instant two-way conversations took place across national boundaries. And what a distinguished birth that was! For these were voices that spoke to those of like-mind; to people of courage – those above the norm – those prepared to fight - to risk torture and death to themselves and their families - to topple the strongest, the most evil and most racist regime in the story of humanity. What an honourable birth modern world communications had.
And there was more. Apart from what Whaddon was up to, the world’s first digital computer was being developed (by Tommy Flowers) at Bletchley. It is no coincidence that Tim Berners, the Londoner who invented the internet, had a father who worked in radar and a mother who worked in computing. But that’s another story. If I stray beyond my subject here, I hope you will forgive me. For it should not be forgotten – indeed it should be shouted out loud – that what happened in the Intelligence Zone was fundamental to the intelligence age that we live in now.
And what became of the suave head of MI6’s communications; Richard Gambier-Parry, the man who, above all, was behind the Whaddon Web? He would stay with MI6 (the forerunner of GCHQ) as their Director of Communications. He liked North Buckinghamshire so much that he moved here permanently, to a little village called Milton Keynes. There he lived until his death (in 1965). He was said, in that village, to be a man who could ‘get things done’.
Gambier-Parry was a product of the upper classes; but no snob. He was an urbane man, respected, liked and sometimes loved by his staff (they called him ‘Pop’). He was witty, tolerant and kind. He was not perfect; he loved to hunt foxes and liked the ladies (they liked him too). He was, however, intensely alive; and had no time for class barriers. He had a thrusting eagerness to make the most of technology. It is a shame – but perhaps a nod to the effectiveness of his secrecy – that he lacks a biography.
‘Pop’ of Milton Keynes. Richard Gambier-Parry
It is perhaps fitting – if in some ways sad - that the tiny village he retired to has been subsumed into England’s newest and most techno-savvy city. If it has his life-force and (most of) his qualities, it is the better for it.
Milton Keynes: the tiny village ‘Pop’ moved to is on the top right of this 1961 map. Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland
The people of Milton Keynes, that new and ancient place, should know of him and his incredible achievements; for they are very much in the weft and warp of the place. They are its – and part of our - roots. Just as we should not be ignorant of the evils in our past, we should not disregard the good. Only by learning from both can we build a sane and healthy future. Thank you, Pop.
I hope that you have enjoyed these articles. I have been contacted by several groups who have asked me to give presentations on these world-shaking local stories. When and if I do so, I will keep you in the loop. I may see you there!
Happy Christmas
Alan
©Alan Biggins December 2023
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