A German Spy Lived Undetected in Cambridge for Nearly Five Months - And MI5 Never Caught Him

On the 3rd of November 1940, a parachute was discovered in a field near Haversham, Buckinghamshire. Somebody had clearly landed, but despite a search of the surrounding area, there was no sign of the parachutist. The missing man had already made his way towards Cambridge, where he would remain undetected for almost five months.

His real name was Engelbertus Fukken, a Dutchman recruited by German military intelligence, the Abwehr. Using the name Jan Willem ter Braak, he arrived in Cambridge on the 4th of November and found lodgings with a couple in St Barnabas Road.

Ter Braak told his landlords that he had escaped from the Netherlands during the Dunkirk evacuation and was helping the Free Dutch movement produce a newspaper in London. They accepted his explanation, and he soon settled into his new surroundings.

He had arrived in Britain carrying false identity papers, money and a wireless transmitter concealed in a suitcase. He also rented an office in Green Street, although he apparently made little use of it. During his time in Cambridge, he travelled around the surrounding area and made several visits to London.

Under wartime regulations, foreign nationals were required to register with the police. Ter Braak never did, although his landlord had informed the authorities that a Dutchman was staying at the property. The police apparently assumed he would register himself, and nobody followed up.

In January 1941, the Food Office began questioning his ration card after discovering that its details belonged to somebody else. Ter Braak told his landlady that he was leaving for London, but instead moved to another address in Cambridge.

By March, his money was running out, and he was struggling to pay for his accommodation. His wireless equipment showed signs of use, but whether he had successfully transmitted information to Germany remains uncertain.

On the 29th of March, Ter Braak left a large suitcase at Cambridge railway station. Three days later, on the 1st of April 1941, an electrician discovered his body inside an air-raid shelter at Christ's Pieces. Investigators concluded that he had taken his own life.

The suitcase was eventually recovered, and inside was his wireless equipment. Ter Braak was quietly buried at Great Shelford in an originally unmarked grave. Many years later, his family sought permission for a memorial bearing his real name.

For nearly five months, a man working for German intelligence had lived among ordinary British civilians without being arrested. His story exposed just how easily an enemy agent could slip through the security measures intended to protect wartime Britain

Image: Keep It Under Your Hat! Careless Talk Costs Lives - U.S. Army, Second World War. Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library and Museum / Public Domain.

A SPANISH ARMADA CAME DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO CORNWALL - WHILE ENGLAND’S WARSHIPS WERE AWAY.

In my last Tudor post, we followed the Spanish Armada of 1596, when King Philip II attempted another expedition against England, only for a violent storm to scatter his ships. Despite losing vessels, men and valuable supplies, Philip was determined to try again. In 1597, he prepared another fleet, and this time the Spanish came alarmingly close to the English coast.

Philip’s plan was to land troops at Falmouth in Cornwall, establish a military base and threaten Plymouth. He also hoped that English Catholics might support the invasion and rise against Elizabeth I. However, there was little reliable evidence that England’s Catholic population would welcome a foreign army, something Philip’s advisers appear to have overestimated.

Around 136 vessels were assembled, carrying approximately 9,000 soldiers and 4,000 sailors. The expedition was commanded by Don Martín de Padilla, who had also led the unsuccessful Armada of 1596. Preparations were delayed by unfavourable winds, and the fleet did not finally leave the Spanish coast until October 1597.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth had sent Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, on an expedition towards the Azores, accompanied by commanders including Sir Walter Raleigh. Their aim was to attack Spanish interests and intercept valuable shipping returning from the Americas. Unfortunately, the expedition achieved little, and with so many English warships away, the south-western coast was left particularly vulnerable.

With Essex’s ships absent, Philip had an opportunity to strike. The Spanish fleet initially made good progress across the Bay of Biscay, approaching the waters off Cornwall. Some historical accounts place the vessels within approximately 30 miles of the Lizard, although the surviving evidence differs over their precise position.

The fleet was making progress when the weather turned. A violent gale struck the Spanish ships, bringing powerful winds and dangerous seas that scattered the vessels across the Atlantic. For several days, the commanders struggled to maintain formation, until Padilla finally abandoned the expedition and ordered a return to Spain.

Although most of the fleet eventually reached safety, several ships were lost or driven onto the coasts of Cornwall and Wales. One vessel, the Nuestra Señora Buen Viaje, reached Milford Haven, where the English recovered sailing instructions that revealed important details about the Spanish plans.

Philip had even gone as far as preparing a proclamation in English, intended to be issued if his troops landed. It promised protection for private property and favourable treatment for those who supported the invasion, while also appealing to Catholics dissatisfied with Elizabeth’s religious settlement. The proclamation was designed to win support beyond England’s Catholic population, but it was never issued.

What I find particularly interesting is how late the warning reached Elizabeth’s government. On the 26th of October 1597, news of the Spanish fleet’s approach reached the royal court, prompting urgent preparations for defence. By then, the storm had already forced the Spanish to abandon their expedition.

England had known that Spain was preparing military operations, but the immediate danger to Cornwall had taken the government by surprise. With much of the English fleet away and coastal defences poorly prepared, a successful Spanish landing could have created a very serious problem for Elizabeth.

The Armada of 1588 is remembered as one of the great events of Elizabeth’s reign, but it certainly did not end Spain’s attempts to challenge England. The expedition of 1597 came much closer to the English coast than many people realise, and once again the weather played a decisive part in preventing Philip’s plans from succeeding.

Philip II died on the 13th of September 1598, but the war between England and Spain continued under his son, Philip III. Peace would not finally come until 1604, after Elizabeth’s death.

Had you heard about the Spanish Armada that nearly reached Cornwall in 1597, or did you think the defeat of 1588 had ended the threat?

☕ Have a cuppa and let’s discover history together!

Image info:

A Coloured Chart of Falmouth Haven and the River Fal, c.1590-1600. Unknown artist. British Library, Cotton Augustus I.i, folio 37. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

HER NEIGHBOURS SAW AN ORDINARY MOTHER IN OXFORDSHIRE - BUT SHE WAS PASSING BRITAIN'S ATOMIC SECRETS TO MOSCOW.

During the Second World War, a German-born woman named Ursula Beurton was raising her children in Oxfordshire. To those around her, she appeared to be getting on with ordinary family life during wartime. But Ursula had a secret that very few people knew about.

Born Ursula Kuczynski in Berlin on the 15th of May 1907, she was an experienced Soviet intelligence officer operating under the codename Sonya.

Ursula had become involved in communist politics while still young, and her espionage career began in China during the early 1930s. She subsequently worked for Soviet military intelligence in several countries, learning how to operate wireless equipment and organise secret communications.

By the time she arrived in Britain in February 1941, she was already an experienced agent. She settled in Oxfordshire, living in places including Kidlington, while continuing to work for Soviet intelligence.

One of her most important contacts was Klaus Fuchs, a German-born physicist who had fled Nazi persecution and was working on Britain's secret atomic research programme, known as Tube Alloys.

In late 1941, Fuchs approached Ursula's brother, Jürgen Kuczynski, offering to provide information to Soviet intelligence. He initially dealt with another Soviet agent, but in 1942 he was transferred to Ursula.

The two began meeting discreetly around Banbury, where Fuchs handed over classified documents relating to Britain's atomic research. Ursula then passed the information through Soviet intelligence channels, helping Moscow obtain details of a programme that Britain was keeping secret, even from its wartime allies.

All the while, she was maintaining her family life in Oxfordshire. She had children to care for and a household to run, but she also possessed the training and experience to handle some of the most sensitive information being passed to Soviet intelligence.

In 1943, Fuchs travelled to America to join the Manhattan Project, where British and American scientists were developing the atomic bomb. He continued supplying information to Soviet intelligence through other contacts.

Ursula remained in Britain after the war. In 1947, British security officers questioned her about her Soviet connections, but she was not arrested.

Fuchs eventually confessed to espionage and was arrested in February 1950. Fearing that his arrest might expose her activities, Ursula left Britain that same month and subsequently settled in East Germany.

She had escaped before Fuchs positively identified her as his former contact to investigators later that year. She was never prosecuted in Britain.

Ursula later became a writer under the name Ruth Werner and died in Berlin on the 7th of July 2000, aged 93.

What interests me most about Ursula's story is how successfully she kept these two parts of her life separate. She was raising children and living in an English community while handling information from one of Britain's most sensitive wartime research programmes.

Even when British intelligence questioned her, they failed to establish the full extent of her espionage activities before she left the country.

And although the Soviet Union was Britain's ally during much of the Second World War, Ursula was never working on Britain's behalf. Her loyalty was to Soviet intelligence, and she continued that work from an apparently ordinary home in Oxfordshire.

☕ Have a cuppa and let's discover history together.

Image of Klaus Fuchs

Image info:

Klaus Fuchs, police photograph. The National Archives, UK. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

They Claimed They Loved the Abbey - Then They Burned Its Buildings and Stole Its Treasures

In my last medieval post, we followed William the Conqueror's difficult march to Chester in early 1070, when some of his own soldiers threatened to abandon him. By Easter, William had returned to Winchester, but elsewhere in England, resistance to Norman rule was continuing.

Among those still fighting William was a man named Hereward, later known as Hereward the Wake. He had connections to southern Lincolnshire and the surrounding Fenlands, where the rivers and marshes made it difficult for Norman forces to operate. Danish warriors had also arrived in the region, and many English people hoped their presence might help them drive William out of England.

At Peterborough Abbey, the monks were facing changes of their own. Their abbot, Brand, had died in 1069, and William had appointed a Norman named Turold to replace him. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle described Turold as a stern man, and his appointment caused resentment among those opposed to Norman rule.

Hereward and his followers decided to act before the new abbot arrived. The monks received a warning that the abbey was going to be attacked, and one of the church officials secretly removed valuable religious items before travelling to Turold.

On the 2nd of June 1070, Hereward's men approached Peterborough by boat. According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, the monks initially refused to allow them inside. The attackers responded by setting fire to the buildings and forcing their way through a gate. The monastery buildings and almost the entire town were destroyed by fire.

Once inside, the raiders carried away valuable treasures, including religious ornaments, books and precious objects belonging to the monastery. The Chronicle records that they claimed to have acted out of loyalty to the church, presumably because they did not want its treasures falling into Norman hands.

The monks were understandably less than impressed by this explanation. Although the abbey church itself survived, the surrounding buildings and much of the town had suffered terrible damage.

Hereward's followers took the stolen treasures to Ely, where Danish forces had gathered. However, the English rebels were soon disappointed. William reached an agreement with the Danish king, Sweyn, and the Danes eventually left England, taking the treasures from Peterborough with them.

Our account of these events comes largely from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which was written down at Peterborough decades after the attack. The monks had their own reasons for remembering what happened, so we cannot be certain whether Hereward genuinely wanted to protect the abbey's treasures from Norman control or simply saw an opportunity to seize them.

Hereward remained in the Fenlands, and during the following year, the Isle of Ely would become the centre of another serious challenge to William's authority.

What do you think? Was Hereward trying to protect Peterborough Abbey or was it an excuse to steal from it?

Have a cuppa and let's discover history together.

Image info:

Hereward the Wake fighting the Normans, from Cassell’s Illustrated History of England, 1865. Wikimedia Commons.

A German Spy Landed in a British Potato Field Wearing Spats – Then Had to Fire His Pistol for Help

On the morning of the 1st of February 1941, two farmworkers near Ramsey in Huntingdonshire heard gunshots coming from a field. When they went to investigate, they discovered a man lying on the ground, unable to walk. He had been there all night, having broken his ankle while parachuting into Britain. His name was Josef Jakobs, and he had been sent over by German military intelligence.

Jakobs was supposed to be collecting weather information and sending it back to Germany. The Luftwaffe needed accurate British weather reports when planning bombing raids, so he had been supplied with a wireless transmitter and the necessary documents to establish himself in Britain. He also had nearly £500 in British banknotes, maps showing nearby RAF airfields and a pistol.

There was something rather peculiar about the way he had dressed for the journey. Beneath his flying suit, Jakobs was wearing a grey-striped suit, an overcoat, a hat and spats over his shoes. Presumably, he had hoped to look like an ordinary civilian once he had disposed of his parachute. Unfortunately, he never got the opportunity to find out whether his disguise would work.

Before the war, Jakobs had been involved in the selling of black-market passports to Jewish people trying to leave Germany. In 1938 he was arrested by the Gestapo, and was spent to Sachsenhausen concentration camp before he was released in 1940. He later told British interrogators that he had agreed to work for German intelligence because he wanted to escape Germany. Whether he really intended to renege on his agreement when he arrived in Britain is difficult to establish.

After his capture, Jakobs spent several weeks receiving treatment for his injury. He was later questioned at Camp 020, where British intelligence interrogated suspected enemy agents. Some captured German spies were recruited to work as double agents, but Jakobs was not among them. He was tried by court martial in August of 1941. He was subsequently found guilty under the Treachery Act 1940 and sentenced to death.

On the 15th of August 1941, he was taken to the Tower of London and was executed by firing squad. He was seated in a wooden chair for the execution, although he had recovered sufficiently from his injury to walk by then.

Josef Jakobs was the last person ever executed at the Tower of London. The chair used during his execution is still there and can be seen in the White Tower today.

Image info:

Josef Jakobs memorial plaque, Tower of London. Photograph: McPhail / Wikimedia Commons. CC0 1.0.

Their uncle, King Leopold I of Belgium, Her Uncle Was Planning Her Marriage - But Queen Victoria Had Other Ideas

When Princess Victoria met Prince Albert on the 18th of May 1836, their relatives were hoping the two would eventually get married. They were actually first cousins, both only sixteen years old, but despite being related, they hardly even knew each another. Victoria grew up at Kensington Palace, and Albert had spent his childhood in Germany.

Their uncle, King Leopold I of Belgium, was keen on the marriage. He encouraged Albert to visit England, he thought that the cousins would make a good match. It would also strengthen the Saxe-Coburg family, bringing them closer to the British throne. Victoria's mother and Albert's father were also supportive of the idea.

But Victoria's uncle, King William IV, had someone else in mind. He disliked the idea of a Coburg marriage and preferred Prince Alexander of the Netherlands. Royal marriages could bring valuable political connections, and Victoria had several relatives who were keen to influence her.

Victoria certainly liked Albert when they first met. She described him as "extremely handsome" and particularly admired his expression. They enjoyed each other's company and continued to correspond after his visit, but nothing had been agreed.

By July 1839, Victoria had been Queen for just over two years and was enjoying her independence. On the 15th of July, she wrote to Leopold saying that there was no engagement between her and Albert. She was not prepared to promise marriage just because their families wanted it.

Victoria explained that even if she did like Albert when they met again, she would prefer to wait another two or three years before considering marriage. She was also reluctant to give up the freedom she had gained from being Queen.

Albert was also concerned. He was being encouraged to prepare for a marriage without knowing whether Victoria would even agree.

Then Albert returned to England in October 1839. Victoria found herself falling in love with him. On the 15th of October, just five days after his arrival, she asked him to marry her. As the reigning monarch, Victoria was expected to propose herself.

Albert accepted, and they married on the 10th of February 1840 at the Chapel Royal, St James's Palace.

Victoria had been quite determined to resist the marriage plans being made around her. Only three months before becoming engaged, she was still insisting that she could not promise Albert anything.

Her relatives may have brought them together, but Victoria's own letters show that she wanted to make the final decision herself.

Image info:

Leap Year! (1840), satirical lithograph depicting Queen Victoria proposing to Prince Albert. British Museum collection, via Wikimedia Commons. Public domain. An artistic interpretation, not a depiction of the actual proposal.

The Germans Awarded Him the Iron Cross - But Their Trusted Spy Was Secretly Working for Britain

One night in September 1940, a man parachuted into a field near Willingham, Cambridgeshire. He had been sent by German military intelligence to gather information about Britain, at a time when fears of a German invasion were widespread.

His name was Wulf Schmidt, a Danish citizen recruited by the German Abwehr. He carried wireless equipment, money and false identity documents, and his mission was to establish himself in Britain and begin sending intelligence back to Germany.

Unfortunately for Schmidt, things went wrong almost immediately.

After making his way into Willingham, he visited a café for breakfast and bought a few supplies. His behaviour and accent attracted attention, and residents became suspicious.

A member of the Home Guard named Tom Cousins eventually found Schmidt asleep in a field. He took him to the Three Tuns pub, where he was questioned. Schmidt’s carefully planned mission had lasted barely half a day before he found himself in British custody.

He was taken to Camp 020, a secret interrogation centre at Ham Common, where MI5 questioned suspected enemy agents. Schmidt initially attempted to maintain his cover, but eventually agreed to cooperate with British intelligence.

He was given the codename TATE and became part of Britain’s Double Cross system, which used captured German agents to feed misleading information back to Germany.

In October 1940, Schmidt resumed wireless contact with his German handlers. They believed he was secretly operating somewhere in Britain, completely unaware that his messages were being controlled by MI5.

Over the following years, TATE supplied intelligence designed to support British deception operations. His German handlers were so impressed with his supposed successes that they awarded him the Iron Cross, a German military decoration.

I find that rather extraordinary. Here was a man who had been captured almost as soon as he arrived in Britain, but the Germans believed he was doing such valuable work for them that they rewarded him for it!

Schmidt continued assisting British intelligence during the preparations for D-Day and throughout the later stages of the war. He remained in contact with Germany until May 1945, making him one of the longest-serving wireless double agents in the Double Cross system.

After the war, Schmidt remained in Britain and adopted the name Harry Williamson, which he had already used as part of his wartime cover. He settled in Watford, where he worked as a photographer for the Watford Observer.

What is remarkable is that the Germans continued to trust him for years, despite his original mission failing almost immediately. The intelligence that they believed was from a trusted agent was actually being carefully managed.

Had you heard of Agent TATE before? Don’t you think that it is extraordinary that a spy could be captured within only hours of arriving in Britain, then spent the next several years convincing his German handlers that he was one of their most successful agents?

☕ Have a cuppa and let’s discover history together.

Image info:

ATS wireless operators learning Morse code at Trowbridge, Wiltshire, 24th November 1941. Photograph by Lieutenant Spender, War Office. Wikimedia Commons. Public domain. Illustrative photograph, not Agent TATE.