Nothing to do, today, with birds or bees or badgers or trees or fish; but something that surfaced with the frequent mention recently of our neutrality. Bit of a spy story, if you like. It comes from the memoirs of wartime assignments by an officer of the British army, and unnamed neutrals. This officer had been in the thick of things at Calais in May 1940 when the Germans were at the Channel. His boss told him to drop that and get out of uniform and to make himself look as little like a British officer as possible. The business was awkward, tricky - "neutrals." It was feared Germans might at any time invade.
There was an aeroplane waiting at Hendon airport. If a single inkling of the mission was to leak out, everything would be ruined. A secret courier from the friends across the water was to meet the British officer at "of all places" the staff Entrance of the Piccadilly Hotel. At Hendon a twin-engined Flamingo was waiting. They went on board at once. No formalities. No questions. The plane landed far away from the real destination and they made their way next day, travelling as strangers. He made his way to the hotel indicated and, as he said in the book, he learned the first lesson of the secret agent: how to get through long hours without appearing to be waiting for anything. He wrote fictional letters to non-existent friends until the courier appeared.
With him was the Shadow who was to check his safety precautions. It would be suspicious to leave his bag locked. He found, he wrote, that he was experiencing real security at the hands of those who had learned to depend upon it for their lives. A small bundle was brought down by the Shadow. A few days later the officer, when a little bundle had been returned to him for his journey home, marvelled at the thoroughness: even down to laundry marks.
There was a meeting after they had stopped outside what might have been an engineer's dump, then down into twisting underground corridors. About a dozen men awaited him. No names, no handshakes, but the business went briskly. He was then taken to a spot near his hotel. Next morning he was examining antiques in a museum, as prescribed, when the courier appeared. Again, into underground passages. Good progress was made, and soon he was on his way back to London.
Monday May 27 1940, back in uniform he climbed the steps of the War Office. His meeting had "about it a dreamlike quality that was never quite dispelled. The Germans never landed in that particular country." He adds: "Perhaps we may have helped a bit to halt it, but in the interests of a group of clear-sighted and courageous patriots I have felt it best to cloak the episode with anonymity." Nuff said. Y