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.

Spain Sent Another Armada in 1596 - But a Terrible Storm Destroyed Its Plans

In my last Tudor post, we followed the English capture of Cádiz in June 1596, when Elizabeth I's forces attacked the Spanish port and caused considerable destruction. Although the expedition had been a success for England, King Philip II was certainly not ready to give up his war against Elizabeth. Eight years had passed since the failure of the Spanish Armada, but he was still looking for ways to challenge English power.

Philip was planning another expedition. He was wanting to support the rebellion in Ireland, where Irish leaders were fighting against English rule. Spanish support could cause serious problems for Elizabeth, particularly if she had to send more soldiers and money to deal with the rebellion. An operation against Brest, on the French coast of Brittany, was also considered. Philip had several interests to protect, and the continuing conflict with England was placing considerable demands on Spain's military resources.

Throughout the summer and autumn of 1596, preparations continued as ships, soldiers and supplies were brought together. The expedition was placed under the command of Don Martín de Padilla, an experienced Spanish commander. Around 80 large vessels were involved, carrying thousands of soldiers and sailors. Organising such a large expedition took time, and it was October before the fleet finally sailed from Lisbon, rather late in the year for a voyage along the Atlantic coast.

On the 28th of October 1596, the fleet encountered a violent storm near Cape Finisterre, off the north west coast of Spain. Strong winds scattered the vessels, and several were driven towards the dangerous coastline. Around 25 ships were lost, along with approximately 2,000 men, while others struggled to make their way back to safety. The damage was so bad that the expedition had to be abandoned. This left Philip without the military success that he had hoped for.

Meanwhile, England had been receiving reports about Spanish preparations, although nobody could be certain exactly what Philip intended to do. Elizabeth's government was understandably concerned about another possible attack, particularly after the experience of 1588. Communication was much slower than we are used to today, and reliable reports of the Spanish disaster did not begin reaching England until late November, several weeks after the storm.

We all remember the famous Spanish Armada of 1588 and overlook the expeditions that followed. The events of 1596 show just how much fighting and preparation continued between England and Spain during the later years of Elizabeth's reign. Philip had lost ships, men and a great deal of money, but he was not finished. In 1597, another Spanish fleet would sail, and this time it would come remarkably close to the English coast.

Had you heard about the Spanish Armada of 1596, or did you think the defeat in 1588 had largely ended Spain's attempts?

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

Image info:

Philip II in Armour, Alonso Sánchez Coello, c. 1570s. Pollok House, National Trust for Scotland. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

An MI5 Double Agent Nearly Exposed the D-Day Deception - Because of Her Dog

I've come across some unusual spy stories lately, but this one might be the strangest so far. In May 1944, with the Allied invasion of France just weeks away, a woman working for British intelligence admitted she had considered betraying a secret operation. Her reason was the death of her beloved dog.

Her name was Nathalie Sergueiew, better known as Lily, and MI5 had given her the codename TREASURE.

Born in Russia in 1912 and raised in France, Lily had worked as a journalist before the war. She eventually offered her services to German military intelligence, known as the Abwehr, although she intended to betray them and work for the Allies.

After receiving German intelligence training, she travelled to Madrid in 1943 and made contact with British intelligence. She was brought to England, where she began working as a double agent.

Her handler was Mary Sherer, MI5's first female agent runner. Together, they prepared messages for Lily's German contacts, mixing genuine information with carefully planned deception.

The Germans were being encouraged to believe that the main Allied invasion would take place around Calais rather than Normandy.

But there was a problem.

Lily had been forced to leave her dog behind in Gibraltar because of Britain's quarantine regulations. She desperately wanted the animal brought to England and, in December 1943, threatened to stop working unless arrangements were made.

She eventually continued sending messages, but things took a much more serious turn when she learnt that her dog had died.

Lily blamed the British authorities.

On the 17th of May 1944, she admitted to Sherer that she had considered using a secret signal agreed with her German handler. It would warn the Germans that her communications were being controlled by British intelligence.

She initially refused to reveal exactly what the signal was.

MI5 now faced a difficult decision. If Lily's messages suddenly stopped, the Germans might become suspicious. But allowing her to continue meant risking the exposure of an operation that had taken months to prepare.

Sherer decided to keep the communications going.

Fortunately, Lily never used the warning signal. The Allied landings went ahead on the 6th of June 1944, and the deception helped persuade German commanders that the main invasion was still expected elsewhere.

About a week after D-Day, Lily was dismissed from active agent work, although MI5 continued using her radio channel afterwards.

What fascinates me about this story is how much depended on Mary Sherer's judgement. Britain's intelligence services had spent months preparing an elaborate deception, and one angry double agent could have put it at risk.

All because of a dog she desperately wanted back.

Image info:

Dummy landing craft used to deceive German intelligence before D-Day, 1944. War Office official photographer, via Wikipedia/Wikimedia Commons. Public Domain.

William's Soldiers Had Had Enough - But He Refused to Turn Back

In my last medieval post, we followed the Harrying of the North during the winter of 1069-1070, when William the Conqueror's forces destroyed settlements and food supplies in an attempt to prevent further rebellion. The suffering was terrible, but William still faced resistance elsewhere in England.

By early 1070, William returned to York after he had been campaigning further north. English and Welsh forces had threatened Shrewsbury, and parts of western Mercia still remained troublesome. William decided to lead his army towards Chester, but some of his soldiers had dealt with more than enough.

The chronicler Orderic Vitalis, writing several decades later, described how the soldiers from Anjou, Brittany and Maine complained about their service. They had already been through exhausting winter campaigns, and now William expected them to march through another difficult region. Some of them demanded to be released from service, arguing that his orders were unreasonable and almost impossible to carry out.

William was not prepared to abandon his plans. According to Orderic, he refused to persuade the soldiers with fresh promises and just ordered those that were willing to follow him to continue. He reportedly dismissed the men threatening to leave as cowards.

The journey was extremely difficult. Orderic described the army travelling across mountains, through deep valleys and over dangerous marshy ground. Heavy rain and hail made conditions worse, while horses became trapped and died in bogs. At times, the soldiers were reportedly forced to eat the flesh of the dead animals.

Orderic also claimed that William sometimes walked ahead of his men, helping others through particularly difficult stretches of the journey. It is an interesting description of a king who was determined to continue, although we should remember that the chronicler was writing long after the events.

Eventually, William's army reached Chester, where he brought the remaining resistance under control. In 1070, he established a castle overlooking the River Dee. It provided a permanent Norman stronghold close to the Welsh border. The original fortifications were built using earth and timber, which is quite different from the later stone castle.

The castle was an important part of William's plans for England. Rather than have to rely entirely on armies marching from one rebellion to another, permanent fortifications allowed him to station troops, protect important routes and strengthen Norman authority.

But what happened to the soldiers who had complained?

According to Orderic, William rewarded the men who had endured the campaign and eventually released them from service. Those who had threatened to desert him were treated differently. As punishment, he reportedly kept them in service for another 40 days after their comrades had been dismissed.

By Easter 1070, William was back in Winchester. His western campaign was over, but opposition to Norman rule had not disappeared.

What do you think of Williams leadership? Do you think he should have listened to the concerns of his soldiers?

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

Image info:

Bayeux Tapestry, Scenes 55-56, showing William the Conqueror lifting his helmet during the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Photograph by Myrabella, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons.

He Sold Britain’s Wartime Secrets- But the Germans Had a Surprise for Him

On the 26th of October 1943, a man in Ankara, Turkey approached German intelligence. He had an incredible offer. He claimed that he could get photographs of highly confidential British documents, but he wanted an enormous amountof money in return. His name was Elyesa Bazna, and he was working as the personal valet to Britain’s ambassador to Turkey, Sir Hughe Knatchbull-Hugessen.

Turkey remained neutral during much of the Second World War, and Ankara had become an important centre for diplomatic negotiations and intelligence gathering. Both Britain and Germany were anxious to influence Turkey’s position in the conflict. This made information passing through the British Embassy particularly valuable.

Bazna had discovered that his employer was unfortunately not particularly careful with confidential documents. The ambassador sometimes brought official papers into his private residence, where Bazna could access to them. While Sir Hughe was taking a bath or had gone out to play the piano, his valet secretly photographed the documents before returning them to their proper places.

Bazna contacted Ludwig Carl Moyzisch, who was a German intelligence officer attached to the German Embassy. He initially demanded £20,000 for photographs of confidential documents, a large amount of money even today. The Germans agreed to purchase his material and gave him the codename CICERO.

Over the following months, Bazna supplied photographs of diplomatic correspondence and information concerning Allied discussions and military matters. Some German officials were suspicious because the intelligence seemed almost too valuable to be genuine. Although the documents were authentic, disagreements and doubts in the German leadership prevented much of the information from being used effectively.

British intelligence eventually became aware that confidential information was reaching Germany. Security at the embassy was tightened, and Bazna’s opportunities to get the information became increasingly limited. His spying ended in early 1944, but his identity as CICERO was not firmly established until after the war.

By then, Bazna believed he had made a fortune from selling British secrets. But when he tried to use his money, he discovered that a lot of it was counterfeit British banknotes.

The forgeries were connected with Operation Bernhard, a German counterfeiting operation in which Jewish prisoners at Sachsenhausen concentration camp were forced to produce convincing copies of British currency. The notes were used to finance intelligence activities, and Bazna had unknowingly received a substantial quantity of them.

After the war, he attempted to get compensation from the West German government, without success.

Don’t you think it is ironic that Bazna had managed to deceive British diplomatic security for months, but the people paying him had deceived him in return?

Had you heard of Agent CICERO before, or did you know that wartime spies were sometimes paid with counterfeit money?

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

Image info:

Elyesa Bazna (Agent CICERO). Photographer unknown. Source: Wikimedia Commons - listed as public domain.