In Farleigh Field: A Novel of World War II

He leaned forward in his seat. “What do you know about the New British Broadcasting Corporation?”

“Isn’t it a radio station broadcasting from Germany, purporting to be British and giving bogus news?”

“Precisely.” He wagged a finger at her, emphasising the point. “Designed to put fear and despair into the hearts of the British people, to break down their will to fight, and to welcome the Germans when they invade.”

“I don’t think many Britons are taken in by it, sir,” she said.

“You’d be surprised. Some people believe anything the radio tells them. They all are not as sophisticated as we are. But that’s beside the point. You may also have heard that there are fifth columnists working inside Britain. Not necessarily foreigners, but English men and women who for reasons of their own are in sympathy with Germany and would like to assist Herr Hitler in any way they can.”

“Surely not, sir?” Pamela asked. “I mean, one hears about fifth columnists, but one always thinks of dubious Russian émigrés and, of course, Oswald Mosley’s fascists.”

“You’d be surprised how many people would welcome the invasion,” he said. “Even people that you and I know. In fact, we think there is some sort of plot going on at this very moment. We’re not sure what it is, but we suspect it may well be to remove the royal family and bring back the Duke of Windsor in their place. We know he has strong pro-German sympathies. He has already demonstrated that.”

“Gosh, that would be awful,” she blurted out, realising she sounded like a schoolgirl.

“This is where you come in, Lady Pamela,” Commander Travis said. “I have had good reports on you from your team leaders. You are quick and you spot things. So this is your assignment. We have a nearby radio receiving station where WRAF workers listen and transcribe all German radio broadcasts. You will receive daily transcripts from this New British Broadcasting Station, and your job will be to pick out anything that might be a message in code to sympathetic souls. It might be a repeated phrase that announces the next sentences will be a message. I can’t tell you what to look for, because I don’t know. But you’re sharp. I think I’m right to put you up for the job.”

“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 na?ve, 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 . . .