During the early months of 1945, Allied Sigint organisations began to seek new tasks as German military ciphers were continually mastered. On the night of 23/24 March, Field Marshal Montgomery led his British forces across the Rhine, and the Americans followed suit the next night. In the East, the Soviets completed the taking of Vienna on 13 April and three days later began their advance on Berlin. Military Enigma decrypts became less important and the emphasis of GC&CS shifted from BP to Berkeley Street and to diplomatic and commercial W/T traffic. AGD’s organisation processed the messages of the German Foreign Ministry, the Japanese military attaché in Berlin and Japanese diplomats in neutral countries around the world. They were also reading the ciphers of Spain, Nationalist China, the Free French and many other non-belligerents. There was also the commercial traffic processed for the MEW.1 All of the incoming and outgoing cipher telegrams, intercepted by Canada, were being sent to AGD at Berkeley Street.
The success of AGD’s Berkeley Street operation and its invaluable contribution to the war effort was significant and, in the last few years of the war, may even have equalled that of Travis’s at BP. While documents providing official reports of the impact of the diplomatic product are not available, some assessment of it can be made. After June 1941, Berkeley Street revealed the authentic views of neutral countries such as Turkey. The Japanese ambassador in Berlin, Lieutenant General Hiroshi Ōshima, was admired by Hitler, and both Berkeley Street and SIS in the US were reading his traffic right through until May 1945. Berkeley Street provided the Allies (apart from the Soviet Union) with reliable and up-to-date information on the state of the German armed forces and the thinking of their high command. While other Japanese diplomats in Europe such as Yakichiro Suma in Madrid and Kurihara in Ankara provided a volume of reports equal to that of Ōshima, regular Berkeley Street weekly dispatches, discriminatingly read, provided a vital source for Allied war planners from 1943 on. Useful intelligence was also obtained from the Turkish ambassador, Tugay, and the Italians, Peppo and Quaroni.
Berkeley Street continued to read Japanese traffic even after the BRUSA agreement which allocated this work to the Americans. Many BJs were sent to Washington by Churchill, some of which were annotated by him, for the personal attention of Roosevelt. Japanese decrypts from their Naval Attaché gave estimates of Germany’s total monthly production of front-line aircraft, which could then be compared with Allied intelligence estimates.2 The BJs remained important until early 1944, when it became clear that there was no possibility of an Axis victory.
Berkeley Street’s primary job was to provide BJs for Churchill, the JIC and the Foreign Office as well as processing plain language and encoded traffic for the MEW. This information was used to plot the economic progress of the war and to set strategic priorities. In 1943, up to a third of ‘C’s’ daily delivery to Churchill consisted of BJs. When he was away, they were sent to him in summary form but were available on his return. While Enigma traffic continued to serve the needs of the military and COSs, BJs served geopolitics and war strategy. Diplomatic intercepts reported the changing course of the war.
In mid-1944, discussions were initiated about a future peacetime GC&CS, and Travis set up a small planning group to make recommendations. It was led by Gordon Welchman, one of AGD’s early ‘professorial’ recruits in 1938 and included Harry Hinsley, who had worked on Naval Enigma and would play a key role in post-war Anglo-American-Commonwealth Sigint discussions, Edward Crankshaw, who had been responsible for wartime Sigint discussions with the Soviets, and Hugh Foss, a GC&CS veteran who had been in Washington working with US naval cryptanalysts on Japanese ciphers. Welchman’s group produced a paper on 17 September 1944, which recommended the creation of a more centralised ‘Foreign Intelligence Office’. They also called for a comprehensive body dealing with all forms of Sigint, including a modern signals organisation which exploited the latest communications technology. It would in effect become a modern ‘Intelligence Centre’ controlling all British interception work.3
Not all senior figures at BP agreed with Welchman and his group. John Tiltman produced a paper in October 1944 arguing for GC&CS to be absorbed into SIS under Menzies to create a single intelligenceproducing service.4 However, in January 1945, the Chairman of the JIC, Victor Cavendish Bentinck, suggested that GC&CS should remain under the overall direction of the Chief of SIS while remaining a separate organisation. It would be provided with its own budget along with the other secret services as part of the ‘Secret Vote’, the strangely named intelligence budget.5 In the end, it was Travis who would decide on the shape of GC&CS after VJ Day. His new organisation would be divided into five groups, Technical, Traffic Analysis, Cryptanalysis, Intelligence and Cipher Security, each run by his key subordinates with a total staff of around 1,000 civilians and 100 military staff.
Meanwhile, the legacy of AGD’s Berkeley Street organisation lived on and in October 1945, an Allied Mission was sent to Rome to ensure security of the Italian Diplomatic Ciphers. It consisted of the Head of the Italian Section at Berkeley Street, a secretary and an officer from the ASA’s Italian Section in Washington. It operated as a subsection of the Allied Control Commission until the end of the war in May 1945. Its brief was to keep a watch on Italian diplomatic communications and their security and ensure that the appropriate intelligence and government departments in both Britain and the US were kept informed about Italian ciphers and lines of communication.
On 22 October 1945, Travis arrived in Ottawa to meet with the JIC on his way to Washington to discuss post-war management of Ultra and other forms of special intelligence. According to Canadian sources, he reported that GC&CS was being absorbed into a General Signal Intelligence Centre and it would manage the product of all intercepts.6 Travis also reported that he believed that commercial codes and ciphers (those of business and industry) were not seen as legitimate targets for peacetime Sigint. While Menzies’ position was always secure under Churchill’s stewardship, after Churchill lost the election of 26 July 1945, his control over Ultra was loosened. While remaining as Director-General of Sigint (as did his successor, Sir John Alexander Sinclair) he had increasingly less time to be involved in it. In January 1945, postwar planning was taken over by William F. Clarke, a veteran of Room 40 and GC&CS’s naval sections. He argued for a separate organisation under either the Chiefs of Staff or the Cabinet Office, operating as a third secret service.
Group Captain Claude Daubeny was tasked with finding a new home for GC&CS and he recommended recombining the remnants of the staff at BP with those at Berkeley Street. The move to Eastcote in London took place in early 1946 in four main groups, and was completed by April.7 Between 1945 and 1948 the name ‘GCHQ’ was used interchangeably with both ‘London Signals Intelligence Centre’ and ‘Station X’, although the first was preferred as it gave nothing away about the nature of the organisation.8 By November, British defence chiefs argued for increasing the expenditure on intelligence, with particular emphasis on Sigint, and it was granted.9 With a larger budget approved, GCHQ staff began the move to its new base in Cheltenham in late 1952 at two locations. By now Travis, who had been fighting poor health throughout the late 1940s,10 had been replaced by Wing Commander Eric Jones. He had taken over Hut 3 after its internal problems had bubbled to the surface, in July 1942. GCHQ’s existence became widely known in the 1970s and 1980s as a result of several trials over leakage of Sigint secrets and the sacking of a number of employees as a result of industrial action.
With Travis, rather than Menzies in charge in 1945, it is hardly surprising that AGD had no role to play in a future GCHQ. He was ‘encouraged’ out of the organisation before VJ Day and officially retired on 1 May on an annual pension of £591,11 considerably smaller than what he expected. Eventually, the Sigint organisation that AGD had created no longer required BP and perhaps fittingly, it was left to his faithful personal assistant during his days there, Barbara Abernethy, to shut the now abandoned site: ‘I and a guy called Colonel Wallace closed up the place. We just closed down the huts, put all the files away and sent them down to Eastcote. I was the last person to leave Bletchley Park. I locked the gates and then took the key down to Eastcote.’12
***
After years of secrecy and intense work pressure, AGD returned to his original profession of teaching to supplement his meagre pension. He taught French and Latin for a while at Downsend Prep School near Leatherhead, but now in his 60s, he found it too strenuous. So he retired completely and, with his wife, settled down to family life in the New Forest while continuing to play golf and squash. While his years of public service were over, friendships established during that service were not. He had befriended the American liaison at Berkeley Street, Telford Taylor, and his successor, Bancroft Littlefield as well as another American, Lou Stone. Robin Denniston remembered both men spending weekends at Ashtead during the V1 and V2 raids on London. Bancroft picked and ate the Denniston’s soft fruit, while Taylor played piano duets with Robin and beat everyone at tennis. In the evenings, Taylor and AGD drank whiskey and no doubt confided in each other about intelligence matters.
AGD was a meticulous and careful man, noting his expenses, however small, in his diary. He was generous and gave all his women friends a diary at Christmas. He got quite bad depression (which his wife called Scottish blight) which disabled him for hours. After he left BP, he didn’t get depressed or turn to drink but developed an uncontrollable lower lip quiver. He was irritable and had seemingly lost confidence in himself, perhaps even feeling betrayed by close former colleagues. Furthermore, he did not trust the bureaucrats at the Treasury or the rich and privileged who circulated on the edge of and sometimes in the middle of the Secret Services.
In late 1944, after he retired, AGD became aware of a classified memorandum by Eric Jones13 titled ‘Post-War Intelligence’. Jones’ comments were intended to inform discussions about a new post-war GC&CS. One remark in particular compelled AGD to respond: ‘It would indeed be a tragic and retrograde step for intelligence as a whole, and therefore – this is not putting it too high – for the future of the country, if GC and CS were to sink back into its pre-war position.’
He decided to document his personal thoughts on the origin and purpose of the 1919 GC&CS, its establishment under Treasury control and its development. He did so completely from memory, and Dorothy typed the manuscript on her old typewriter.14 He felt there were few who knew the true history or anything of his early work to prepare GC&CS for war. The perceived wisdom was that GC&CS was completely unprepared for war, had failed to take on the mathematical needs of machine decryption and was run by amateurs unable to cope with the officials in the Treasury, the needs of the Armed Forces or the requirements of BP’s enhanced wartime capability. AGD had kept in touch with Birch, Tiltman, Cooper and De Grey and to some extent Travis and eventually with the new Head of GCHQ, Eric Jones, who he had appointed.
Another old friend made contact with AGD on hearing of his retirement. On 12 April 1945, William Friedman wrote:
As the date of your retirement from active service approaches, I want to tell you how much I personally have enjoyed our friendship and how highly I regard the cordial relationship which existed between us from 1941 to the present moment.
Words are often poor things to express the deep feelings one has at times like these, but I do want you to know that there are many of us here who realize the exceptionally valuable contribution which you made toward bringing the war in Europe to a successful conclusion. This added to what you did in the last war makes a target for those who will follow you to shoot at, and it will take some very good shooting to come near it.
AGD and Friedman had immediately struck up a friendship when they met first in the US and then in Britain. In October 1943, Friedman had sent AGD some golf balls, as both were keen golfers. On 5 January 1944, Friedman replied to a letter from AGD and talked about exchanging daughters on what he jokingly referred to as ‘a Lend-Lease basis’ He went on to say that: ‘We are anticipating another expansion to go into exploitation on a much wider scale as regards the Pacific Theatre. Things look pretty good in that direction and we have great hopes of “making a kill”.’ But they were able to mix business with pleasure, as he goes on to say: ‘It seems to me about time for you to be thinking of making another visit in this direction, say some time this spring or early summer. I would like to try you out again on that Army-Navy golf course and see if I could not make up for that drubbing you gave us in 1941.’15
Freidman wrote to AGD again on 19 June, 1945, informing him that he too had left government service. He formally retired on 12 October 1955 to work on ‘civilian’ cryptographic problems. AGD’s daughter ‘Y’ was working in Washington at the time, and Friedman assured him that she was well and happy. The following month, AGD was able to update Friedman on some of their old colleagues:
My dear Friedman,
Some weeks ago I was very grateful to receive an invitation from the Director to be present at a ceremony marking your return to private life. I wish I could have been present to have shaken you by the hand & congratulated you on your very successful active life & have welcomed you to the world of the ‘has beens’. I was glad to see that at least two of your leading pupils are still with you, Sinkov and Kullback – please greet them for me. I am sad to have to tell you that not many of my old party still survive.
I did see Travis in his home in the early spring, also on the retired list, but alas there are not many others. I exchange news once a year with Telford Taylor and Bancroft Littlefield &, we heard McCormack’s voice on the phone while he was visiting England. Since I retired, now 10 years ago I have kept quite clear of the old office. I know nothing of it & its activities for obvious reasons. Oddly enough a biography of Admiral Hall has just appeared which hints at the work of 1914-18. I believe an American edition is now thought of – it might amuse you as I know you once had a long collection of such books. Its title is ‘The Eyes of the Navy’. All personal allusions have been avoided but I fancy you may be able to read between the lines. I hope life has been kind to you & all your family. No doubt you are now a proud grandfather as I am, now attending to my garden & my golf in the depths of the New Forest. Will you please give my warm greetings to any of my old friends should you happen to meet them & accept my warm congratulations.16
Friedman replied and said that the intelligence agency was still keen on him doing work for them, albeit from home. He was also attempting to catalogue all of the items in his cryptographic collection.17. By the end of 1957, AGD told Friedman that he was not as mobile as he once was and ‘am inclined to stay put in this forest village’. The following year, AGD’s health was no better and he updated Friedman in a letter dated 18 January: ‘Since those days at the end of 1957 when we nearly met & when you sent me your book, I have alas been in the hands of doctors who, kindly but firmly, tell me I am now an old man whose works require careful treatment. I must not try to do too much. After weeks in bed I am now allowed up for some 3 or 4 hours a day & feel I am really a nuisance to my overworked wife.’18
By May, AGD was able to report that he was feeling better and becoming more mobile. The two old friends had initiated a discussion about the old days and, in particular, Edward Bell and the Zimmermann Telegram. On 4 May, AGD wrote: ‘You may remember the name Bell, he was the link with that distinguished man whose life we were looking at on Saturday & he dealt personally with our people who were engaged in that affair.’19
By this point, Friedman had decided to produce a definitive account of the Zimmermann Telegram episode, and AGD was probably the only living survivor of the halcyon days of Room 40 that he knew. He had acquired a copy of The Eyes of the Navy, a ‘biographical study’ of Admiral Sir Reginald Hall by Admiral Sir William James. Not surprisingly, it included the story of the Zimmermann Telegram. He told AGD that he was mentioned in the book but not listed in the index. He thought that it was ‘a good piece of work; so far as I have dipped into it and the account appears to be quite factual and I haven’t encountered any glaring misstatement’. Friedman asked Prescott Currier, who was visiting Britain, to deliver a copy of the telegram by hand to AGD.20 AGD and Friedman then proceeded to get into a discussion about how many routes were used to transmit the Zimmermann Telegram. It gives a fascinating insight into the difficulty of recalling historical events from years before without recourse to documents of the day. Some of the letters can be found in Appendix 12.
AGD’s beloved wife Dorothy was diagnosed with breast cancer in the autumn of 1957. She had supported him throughout his career and, while she knew about his work, had been as secretive as her husband. She had an operation in January the following year but sadly died on 7 February 1958. AGD moved to New Milton where ‘Y’ lived with her husband, Geoffrey Finch, the local vicar. ‘Y’ looked after her father as he became frail, inactive and, in the words of his son, ‘distraught’. He died in hospital in Lymington, Hampshire, on 1 January 1961 aged 79, and was buried in Burley in the New Forest. He left his children £2,000 each in his will but his wife, a shrewd investor in stocks and shares, left them £10,000 each. No official representative of the intelligence services attended his funeral and it went unreported in national newspapers.
The following month, ‘Y’ wrote to Friedman, informing him of her father’s death:
Feb 7th 1961
Dear Mr Friedman I hope this letter reaches you only I have lost the letter I had saved up with your address on it.
This comes to tell you that my father died very peacefully on January 1st aged 79. He was really only ill one week though he had been very frail & inactive for the last 3 years. He missed my mother who died in February last year very much & was really only waiting to join her. I think he had been reasonably happy with us & enjoyed the company of the grandchildren. He knew that we were expecting No. 3 in May & was pleased as our first two are adopted. I miss him very much but realise that really his death was a blessing.
With greetings to you all
‘Y’ Finch (nee DENNISTON)21
Friedman’s reply reflects the great esteem with which AGD was held in the intelligence community:
Dear ‘Y’,
Your letter was forwarded quite promptly by my friends at the American Branch of the Cambridge University Press.
The news of your father’s death had been communicated to us and other friends of your father, by Brigadier Tiltman, who as you probably know, is still in Washington.
Your father was a great man in whose debt all English-speaking people will remain for a very long time, if not for ever. That so few of them should know exactly what he did towards achievement of victory in World War I and II is the sad part of the untold story of his life and of his great contribution to that victory. His devotion to the supremely important activities to which he gave so much of himself unstintingly, and with no thought to his own frail strength and physical welfare will never be forgotten by those of us who had the pleasure of knowing, admiring and loving him.
You probably know that on each of my visits to London after the war I journeyed into the country to renew acquaintances, to further cement our long-standing friendship, and just chat with him. During my last two visits I was sad to see him physically so frail, but glad to find that his mind was as keen as ever. When I learned in January of 1960 of your mother’s passing, I felt that he would not be long in joining her, for on my last visit I saw that she gave him the strong support which was what probably kept him alive. Her pre-deceasing him was so unexpected by me and it was then all the sadder for me to contemplate how much he would miss her. I was relieved to learn from your letter that he was really only ill for a week and that he died peacefully.
Mrs. Friedman joins me in thanking you for your letter and in offering you and your band our very best wishes in regard to the soon anticipated addition to your nice little family.
Very sincerely
William F. Friedman
So Alastair Denniston, the forgotten man of British Sigint, was gone, along with his knowledge of its evolution from a small group crammed into a room in the Admiralty to the beginnings of modern-day GCHQ. While he documented some of his thirty years in intelligence for posterity, it would in the end be left to others to properly assess his contribution to the world of signals intelligence.