SOE's Mastermind

The Authorised Biography of Major General Sir Colin Gubbins KCMG, DSO, MC

Brian Lett

• Publisher: Pen & Sword Military
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781473863828
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Military Biographies
• Index: History

The first complete biography of Britain's WWII spymaster presents an intimate look at his life and career, as well as an insider's look at the SOE. Major General Sir Colin Gubbins was the driving force behind Britain's Special Operations Executive, the secret military organization established by Winston Churchill in 1940. First as its Operations and Training Director, and then its Commander, Gubbins orchestrated every aspect of the SOE's worldwide covert operations. Though Gubbins made enormous contributions to Allied victory, his life and work have remained shrouded in secrecy until now. With copious research and unprecedented access to family archives, biographer Brian Lett reveals the war hero's early experiences in the Great War, as well as in Russia, Ireland, Poland, and as Head of British Resistance. The result is a fascinating biography that reveals as much about SOEs extraordinary activities as it does about the man who inspired and commanded them.

Part I

The Formative Years

Chapter 1

Escape from Germany: August 1914

A short, slight, boyish-looking youth, obviously not German, waited anxiously on the platform of Heidelberg station for a train north to Cologne. It was about 2.30 in the afternoon of 1 August 1914. He had no idea whether or when any such train might come. All around him the station was buzzing and bustling with people, many of them in uniform, and all the talk, in so far as he could understand any German, was of war. The youth’s name was Colin McVean Gubbins. All that he wanted to do was catch a train to Cologne, and then get out of Germany as quickly as he could. Germany had that day declared war on Russia, and France and Great Britain, since they were Russia’s allies, would be obliged to join the fight soon. Colin’s papers, despite his boyish appearance (he had yet to commence shaving), identified him as a British officer cadet. If the German authorities inspected those papers, Colin knew that he was bound to be arrested and then interned in a prison camp for however long the war was to last. His embryonic military career would be finished before it had begun.

Colin had arrived in Heidelberg little more than a week earlier, on 23 July, to study the German language. His father, an expert linguist, had decided that it would be useful for the boy to do so, during his summer holidays from the Woolwich Military Academy in London. Germany was one of Europe’s great military powers, and German was not taught in British schools of the time, or in ‘the Shop’, as the Woolwich Military Academy was known. Surprisingly, Colin was not the only cadet from the Shop to choose to spend his summer holiday in Germany. Three of his fellow students were also there. After the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the elderly Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria-Hungary, by Serb separatists in Sarajevo, Bosnia, on 28 June 1914, the European powers had been rattling their sabres at each other. Germany was Austria-Hungary’s ally, and Russia supported the Serbs. France was Russia’s ally, and Great Britain had ‘ententes’ with both France and Russia.

However, over the past few weeks the British press had had a more domestic problem to concentrate on: the issue of Home Rule for Ireland was threatening to lead to civil war. Edward Carson’s Ulster Volunteers were arming themselves, as were the Irish Republican Brotherhood. In March, in an incident that became known as the ‘Curragh mutiny’, British army officers stationed at the Curragh had threatened to resign their commissions if ordered into action against the Ulster Volunteers. The situation had worsened to such an extent during the spring and early summer that in July King George V had called a conference at Buckingham Palace of Unionists, Conservatives, Liberals and Irish Nationalists, in what was perceived to be a last ditch attempt to avoid civil war. The conference took place over four days from 21 to 24 July, but appeared to achieve nothing. The press was therefore fully occupied with analyzing the position at home, and had been paying scant attention to European sabre-rattling.

On 23 July Colin had left England for Heidelberg. On the following day Austria-Hungary had issued an ultimatum to Serbia, which Serbia (supported by Russia) rejected. However, it was also the last day of the Buckingham Palace conference, and the British press were far more interested in that than in squabbles in the Balkans. The Austro-Hungarian army moved against Serbia on 29 July, and on 31 July, probably aware that the British had taken their eyes off the continental situation, Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany issued an ultimatum to Russia. The next day, 1 August, he declared war on the Russians.

Colin spoke virtually no German yet. His father had booked him into lodgings in Heidelberg with a widowed lady and her spinster daughter, and he was due to have six hours of German tuition a day with the widow, who was a retired teacher. However, only a week had passed, and although he had an undoubted talent for languages Colin had had little chance as yet to make progress with German. Further, he had only a few shillings remaining of the two guineas with which he had left England. His father had sent him off with the promise of a weekly supplement to his funds, but none had yet arrived. Colin was close to penniless. Since arriving in Heidelberg he had explored the old city and the surrounding countryside, but he knew nothing of German affairs. It was only when he walked into town on the morning of Saturday, 1 August that he realized that something was up. Leaving the dull calm of the house where he lodged, he found himself in a city full of activity and confusion. Everywhere there were soldiers in uniform hurrying to assembly points, from where their NCOs mustered them and marched them off. On many lamp posts there were handbills which, when Colin consulted his pocket German dictionary, he understood to be announcing the declaration of war against Russia.

Colin was just a few weeks beyond his eighteenth birthday and still very immature both physically and in experience of the world, but he realized at once that he was in very real danger of becoming trapped in Germany, far from home, as war raged across Europe. It could not be long before France and Great Britain declared war on Germany, and the Germans were hardly likely to return a British officer cadet to his own country if there was a war on. Colin returned immediately to his lodgings, where he found his landlady in tears. She confirmed what he already knew – that Germany had formally declared war on Russia and was mobilizing its vast army for battle. She said that the Austrians and the Serbians were already fighting. Colin announced that he must return home at once, and packed his things with some speed. They were bulky and included a large travel trunk – he had been due to stay in Heidelberg for more than six weeks. His landlady gathered together some food for his journey – a paper bag of buns – and when he was ready to depart presented him with a 10 mark piece (the equivalent of 10 shillings then, or 50p in modern British currency) to help him on his journey. Probably this was no more than a small refund against the fees that she had already received.

Colin may have been physically immature, but there is no doubting his determination and courage. Despite being alone, close to penniless (even allowing for the 10 marks), unable to speak German and adrift many miles behind enemy lines, he was determined to make his way back to England. His first thought, like most Britons abroad in those days, was to seek assistance at the British Consulate. With the help of his landlady’s daughter he secured a taxi, which he loaded with his luggage, and the two of them went directly to the Consulate. It was closed. Perhaps, international crisis or not, it had closed because it was the Saturday afternoon of a bank holiday weekend. Possibly the diplomatic mission had already been withdrawn against the inevitability of war. Either way, there was no help for Colin to be had at the Consulate. The taxi took them on to the station, which they not surprisingly found to be thronging with people. The daughter, on Colin’s behalf, asked about trains to Cologne, the first stage of his most obvious route home, but was told that there was no longer any timetable and that all regular trains had been cancelled. The engines and rolling stock had been commandeered for military mobilization. Furthermore, such trains as still ran were very crowded, and no travel trunks would be accepted. Colin’s determination to leave was unaffected by this bad news. He thanked his companion and said goodbye, then dumped his trunk, marked with his name and address, on the station forecourt along with many others already abandoned there and fought his way into the station with a suitcase in his hand. It was 2.30 p.m. Now he was truly alone.

A quarter of a century later, during the Second World War, the agents whom Colin would command in his role as ‘M’, the Operations and Training Director of the Special Operations Executive (SOE), would regularly find themselves in similar situations, but never without training as Colin was now, a mere four weeks after his eighteenth birthday. Perhaps in part because of this early experience, he would later ensure that those agents received the best training possible. At Heidelberg station, apart from German servicemen, there were many travellers of various nationalities all hoping to find a way to their homes, near or far. Colin had the return portion of his rail ticket, which was routed via Cologne and the Hook of Holland to England. Using his German dictionary, and a fair dose of common sense, he discovered which was the main platform for trains north to Cologne and settled down patiently to wait.

Hour after hour, Colin waited on the platform, all the while hoping that no official would ask him who he was. Train after train roared through the station without stopping, heavily laden with troops, guns and all the paraphernalia of war. The crowding of the station was eased only by the local trains that stopped regularly to carry away local passengers. Eventually, Colin found himself unable to sit still any longer and began to pace from end to end of the long platform. Having no money, his only real option was to get himself to Cologne and seek help from the British Consulate there, which hopefully would not have been evacuated or closed for the bank holiday weekend. However, as he became increasingly more impatient and desperate, he resolved to catch any train that stopped, provided it was heading north and would therefore take him closer to the German border. He studied his companions on the platform with care, since any of them could potentially pose a threat to him. Colin was learning what was necessary to escape from enemy territory in the hardest possible way. For perhaps the first time in his life he was grateful for his slight build and boyish appearance. He knew that in his civilian dress he in no way resembled an eighteen-year-old officer cadet. He realized too the importance of remaining inconspicuous and not drawing any attention to himself.

When 8.00 p.m. arrived there was still no sign of a civilian train to Cologne, or indeed any civilian train heading north. Colin had been waiting as patiently and inconspicuously as he could for five and a half hours. Now, his regular survey of his companions on the platform identified two ladies, one elderly and the other apparently her daughter, who looked by their dress and manner to be British. They were sitting on a bench, in a state of some distress. Carefully, Colin approached closer to them, becoming more confident of his identification as he did so. Diffidently, he introduced himself and discovered that they were indeed British and, like he, were trying to get back to England. The ladies were grateful for the company of a fellow Briton, particularly a young male, and Colin was grateful for their company, probably in part because he realized that they provided him with improved cover. Many might now think him the junior member of a family group. The waiting continued. Colin had already eaten a number of his landlady’s buns but now, despite becoming increasingly hungry, he saved what was left for the journey.

Troop trains continued to pour through the station, until finally, close to midnight, a long civilian train pulled in which the elderly lady ascertained was destined for Cologne. Luckily, a compartment almost opposite them contained two empty seats, and Colin rushed his two lady companions aboard and successfully sat them down, before returning to the platform to gather the few remaining pieces of luggage. Although this took only the shortest time, when Colin endeavoured to get back on to the train, he found the door blocked and held closed from within by a fat German man, who was shouting and gesticulating at him. In any wrestling match over the door Colin would have found himself heavily outweighed by his German opponent, but happily one of his new-found allies, the elderly lady, moved swiftly and bravely to his assistance, striking the large German repeatedly on the head with her umbrella and distracting him long enough for Colin to force his way through the door. The German’s resistance then subsided, and he apparently accepted Colin’s presence as a fait accompli. For Colin, it was perhaps an early lesson in the courage and effectiveness of the opposite sex in war. Certainly, he was to become a great admirer and supporter of female agents and helpers behind enemy lines in the Second World War. Without the help of his elderly friend, Colin’s escape attempt might well have got no further than Heidelberg.

Once on the now crowded train, Colin was forced to stand in the corridor throughout the journey. He ate the remainder of his landlady’s buns and dozed as best as he could on his feet until dawn arrived, then watched the peaceful and beautiful countryside pass by the windows of the train. Finally the train arrived at Cologne station at about 10.00 o’clock on Sunday morning, 2 August. Perhaps due to the very crowded condition of the train, Colin had been untroubled by any ticket inspection or request to see his papers. The first stage of his journey had been successfully accomplished. The train itself was going no further, and Colin and his two companions descended into the turmoil of another crowded and confused station.

His next objective was to find a train to take him across the German border into Holland, where he hoped to catch a ferry from the Hook of Holland; this was the way he had arrived only ten days before, and the journey should be covered by the return portion of his ticket. Leaving his companions for a few moments, Colin managed to enquire at the ticket office about trains to Holland but was told that the line was closed and there would be no trains. His return ticket was therefore useless. It was obvious that the conditions of war were beginning to take effect. Colin collected the two ladies, and they took a taxi together to the British Consulate. In a time of such crisis, with so many British citizens undoubtedly caught within Germany’s borders, Colin expected the Consulate to be busy helping Britons with advances of cash and advice on travel. However, when the taxi pulled up in front of the consular building, the very opposite proved to be the case – as in Heidelberg, the British Consulate in Cologne was closed and totally deserted. Even towards the end of his life, when writing of this incident, Colin found himself totally unable to understand or explain why, in a time of the greatest need, the British Consulate in a large and bustling city like Cologne was closed.

But closed it was. Colin and his companions felt a deep and bitter disappointment and a sense that they had been totally abandoned by their own country. Colin, in particular, now found himself lacking the money to buy a fresh ticket home. They had held their taxi, and now directed it to take them back to the station. Arriving back where they had started earlier that morning, they found the station still heaving with people and the main platform crowded with passengers hoping to leave Germany, including a large number of American tourists. The platform was also cluttered with numerous abandoned trunks. Whilst the two ladies waited on the platform in the hope of any train that would take them out of Germany, Colin began to pace up and down, trying to think of a way out of this new predicament. As at Heidelberg, he carefully and unobtrusively studied the other would-be passengers on the platform, endeavouring to sort out potential enemies from potential friends. His attention fell upon a tall and particularly well-dressed gentleman who, it seemed, was quite unperturbed by all the excitement around him. Wearing a bowler hat, he looked to be a typical Englishman, and such was his composure that he seemed to Colin like an ordinary commuter standing on an English suburban station awaiting a train into the City of London.

In the days when foreign travel, although very fashionable, was the exception rather than the rule, there was something of a national bond between Britons abroad; and now, of course, with Great Britain threatened by war, such a bond was all the stronger. Whatever else, it seemed clear that the man was not a German official of any kind, and therefore Colin thought it worth the risk to try to speak to him. He approached the tall, elegant figure and spoke to him in English. To his great relief, the man replied in the same language. He was indeed a fellow Englishman (to be precise, Colin himself was half Anglo-Irish, half Scottish, but had been educated at Cheltenham College) and endeavouring, like Colin and so many others, to return home. Colin asked for news or advice as to how he might get back to England. The Englishman informed him that he understood there was a train leaving for Brussels at about 2.00 p.m. and advised Colin to join him on that train if indeed it did appear. To get from Brussels to England should not prove too difficult. The Englishman had the return portion of a first class ticket that he was confident would carry him to London. Colin explained that his own ticket was via the Hook of Holland and was now useless, and that he had insufficient funds to buy a ticket via Brussels. The kindly Englishman reacted by handing Colin a gold sovereign, which together with his 10 marks would be sufficient to buy a third class ticket to London. Thanking his benefactor profusely, and making sure to take his name and address so that the loan might be later repaid, Colin made his way rapidly to the ticket office. He queued patiently at the third class ticket window, and when the time came proffered the gold sovereign and the marks to purchase a ticket to London. The harassed ticket clerk asked no awkward questions. His job was simply to sell tickets, and a gold sovereign was perfectly acceptable currency in Europe. Colin collected his ticket, and went to wait for the train to Brussels. Happily, the Englishman’s information proved correct, and a train duly arrived. The waiting passengers, most of them non-Germans and including the two ladies with whom Colin had travelled from Heidelberg, swarmed aboard. Colin was fortunate enough to find a corner seat in a third class compartment.

The train moved off slowly, leaving Cologne behind it. Another hurdle had been crossed. However, Colin now faced what was likely to prove the most difficult part of his journey. He had to cross the German border without anyone inspecting his identity papers and realizing who he really was. In the Second World War, when Colin was running SOE, many would-be escapers believed in a simple rule: ‘If you are going to try to escape, do it as soon as possible.’ Colin, of course, was following that rule now. The moment he heard that Germany and Russia were at war, he had packed his bags and left Heidelberg. In any war, the passage of time brings a degree of organization which is not there in the early stages. On 1 August 1914, Germany had mobilized all its troops and reserves. Even in Germany, that most orderly of nations, there was a degree of disorder in the early days and a lack of appreciation of the extreme measures required to secure the country’s borders. Colin hoped to take full advantage of this now. There were bound to be checks, but hopefully the Germans would not exhibit the thoroughness which came, for them, with training and routine.

Colin had chosen a carriage containing, amongst others, three women, and was trying to look as young, harmless and innocent as he could. Inwardly tense and alert, he did his best to look relaxed and uninterested. Leaving Cologne behind, the train stopped at a couple of stations and moved into open countryside. Then, to Colin’s considerable concern, it came to a halt in the midst of virtually unbroken country. Looking out of the window, his worst fears were confirmed when he saw a number of German policemen climbing aboard the train in pairs. Clearly, a careful search was about to begin. Colin sat tight and pretended to concentrate on a German paper that he had picked up. Ten anxious minutes passed, during which he observed that several passengers had been led off the train under guard. He then heard the policemen arrive in the compartment next door, inspecting papers and asking questions in German. Colin had long since made his mind up that if questioned, he would not produce the Foreign Office document that showed him to be an officer cadet. At that time, it was unnecessary for British citizens to carry identity papers when travelling on the Continent. Since Britain had not yet entered the war, he hoped that if he simply declared that he was British, he might be left alone. Anyway, if questioned, there was no chance that he could disguise his nationality.

Many years later, Colin himself described what happened when the German policemen reached his compartment:

It was a tense moment for me when they opened our slidi...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Dedication
• Copyright
• Contents
• Foreword
• Part I: The Formative Years
• Photo Gallery
• Part II: The Special Operations Executive
• Appendix I: Address by Sir Peter Wilkinson KCMG, DSO, OBE, at the Memorial Service on 20 May 1976
• Appendix II: Full List of Colin Gubbins’ Medals
• Acknowledgements
• Sources