Codebreaking and Colossus

In late 1941, following my 18th birthday, a normal next phase would have been two further terms at boarding school, with an option for scholarship holders to proceed to a shortened University degree course before joining up. But over that Christmas my teenage imagination was fired by a tale from my father concerning a mysterious establishment at Bedford. He had it on the authority of the then War Minister, Sir James Grigg, that as preparation for doing something unspecified but romantic behind enemy lines there were opportunities to sign up for a Japanese course starting in a couple of months’ time. I duly journeyed to Bedford and presented myself at the address given. My request to enrol elicited from the Intelligence Corps officer at Bedford a somewhat puzzled reply: ‘Who told you that we have a Japanese course now? That particular exercise is planned for the autumn.’ Noting my confusion he added: ‘But we have courses on codebreaking. There’s a new intake just starting. Would that interest you instead? I’ll have someone find you a billet nearby. Be back here at 9 a.m. Monday.’ In the Second World War one did not mess about. Returning to the London suburbs just long enough to pack a suitcase, I was back and signed in to the School of Codes and Ciphers, Official Secrets Act and all, on the Monday morning. With the rest of the new class I was soon held in thrall by our instructor, a certain Captain Cheadle, and by the black arts of codes and ciphers. With nothing to occupy my evenings, I arranged to have my own key to the building and classroom. My habit became to return after hours to the texts and exercises. The resulting accelerated learning curve made my selection inevitable when a Colonel Pritchard arrived from Bletchley. He was on a mission to recruit for the new section that was being formed by Ralph Tester to follow up John Tiltman’s and William Tutte’s successive coups—the hope was that breaking and reading Tunny traffic could be placed on a regular basis.