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In my first week in the women’s army I nearly caught a German spy.

Training in Northampton

I was conscripted into the Auxiliary Territorial Service – ATS – in April 1943 at the age of 20 and, along with others, was sent to a training camp in Northampton. After a few days we were given the afternoon off, so I, with two newly acquired pals, took ourselves off to the NAAFI in town.

There we were ribbed by some soldiers who said they knew we were rookies because, having removed our bakelite buttons for brass ones, we had sewn some of them on with the King’s crown upside down; an offence warranting incarceration in the Tower of London.

Shorthand in demand

At that very next minute this birdlike creature, clothed all in black, arms flapping, descended on our table like an elderly raven from the afore-mentioned battlement - and looking straight at me. "I believe you do shorthand?" she squawked above the din. Taken by surprise I could only nod, having been a shorthand typist back in civvy street, but how would she have known that?

I followed her into an anteroom where a short fellow in RAF uniform, carrying a wooden attaché case, was pacing up and down in agitation. "We must hurry. There’s not much time left," he spluttered in a guttural accent, consulting his watch in a White Rabbit sort of way, and, taking hold of my arm, he propelled me out into the street. Like Alice, I thought I would wake up soon. But no, he led me across the road and into the theatre opposite where I noticed from the ‘stills’ outside that ample-bodied Tessie O’Shea - a favourite artist of mine - was on.

Surprise table tennis champion

As he was paying for tickets I panicked and ran back down the steps, but he was after me in a flash and pulled me back, blustering, "This is important. Look, I’m Richard Bergmann. I’m the reigning table tennis champion of the world. [Oh Yeah?] There’s a table tennis exhibition on stage and one of the men is falsely claiming to be the holder of my title. I need evidence to challenge him and I want you to take down everything that is said." Of course I didn’t believe a word he uttered.

The theatre was in darkness as we were ushered to our seats in the stalls, the first act having already begun. My German spy placed the wooden case on my lap, produced a sheet of paper, pen and a torch, and whispered, "I'll tell you when." 'When' was the next act. The umpire was declaring, "This is an exhibition match for a war charity. Nearest to me is Mr... the table tennis champion of the world, and next to him is Mr... a former world champion."

A secret code?

Petrified, with my knees knocking the sense out of each other, and stifling a fertile imagination that was warning me the case might contain a bomb, I attempted to get down every word I heard, now convinced that I was dealing with a secret code for the enemy. Suddenly, I was working for my country and I would not be found wanting I told myself. At the end of the exhibition my spy stood up, retrieved the case, and indicated that we leave.

While Mr Bergmann disappeared to the cloakroom in some haste - never mind the state of my own insides - I sat in the foyer transcribing the notes, scribbling an extra copy for England and hiding it in my shoulder bag. When he returned, he stuffed a one-pound note into my pocket, which I immediately returned. I didn’t want tainted money. He thanked me, bowed, and was gone. Just like that.

Over at the NAAFI two anxious friends were about to report me missing, but, when I revealed I was on the track of a German spy and had a secret code to unravel, they got caught up in the excitement.

Bound to win the war

Back at camp I produced my notes to the Officer in Charge who said the matter would be investigated. Later she revealed that it had indeed been Richard Bergmann the reigning table tennis champion of the world and that he was Austrian, not German. And the notes were just – notes. Deflated was not the word. But she said I could be proud of myself. "Your vigilance on this occasion has indeed been praiseworthy. As long as we have girls like you in the ATS – continually on their toes – [actually my feet had never touched the ground] we’re bound to win the war." "Yes Ma’am. Thank you Ma’am." What else could I have said?

Anyway, I was always a bit miffed that I never got to see Tessie O’Shea.

Mary Housden, 23 November 2003

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