The Hornet's Sting_ The Amazing Untold Story of World War II Spy Thomas Sneum - Mark Ryan [65]
However, none of these political factors were known to Sneum on that August morning in 1941. In fact, he still didn’t even know the name of the organization that had recruited him. All he knew for sure was that he was being sent into Nazi-occupied territory with a man he didn’t like or trust.
About two weeks before radio instruction was due to be completed, Charles Seymour, Rabagliati’s number two, arrived at Rodney House unexpectedly. He told Sneum and Sigfred to pack four days’ worth of kit. Seymour, who had left a job in the tobacco trade in China to serve his country, was a good-natured twentyseven-year-old with precious little military experience. He had been brought into SIS by Claude Dansey because his mother spoke fluent Dutch and because he had the right family credentials. At that time he had been known by his real name, Dudley Overton Seymour. He had spent precisely one day in the Tank Corps before his sudden recruitment by MI6 and had mixed feelings about the switch: he had crossed the globe to fight for Britain, and this clandestine organizational work didn’t sound like fighting at all. So it was a reluctant Captain Seymour who joined the Broadway team at the start of 1941, as Rabagliati’s assistant in the nerve center of British Intelligence.
Almost immediately he was invited to change his name; not by MI6, but by a secretary who worked inside its headquarters. At twenty-one, Hazel Wonnacott had already been out with a man named Dudley, and she didn’t have fond memories of the affair.
‘So what do you want to call me?’ Seymour wasn’t about to let his name spoil a chance of romance.
‘Charles. Yes, Charlie, that’ll do,’ said Hazel.
The name stuck for the rest of his life. By the late summer of 1941, Charles Seymour and Hazel Wonnacott were engaged to be married, with the date set for 6 September. Although the wedding was only days away, Seymour still had to concentrate on his job.
Charlie was more comfortable with the Dutch side of the A2 operation, but his duties naturally extended to Denmark. So here he was, ready to drive Britain’s first two Danish agents out of London in the direction of Manchester. They jumped into the sports car Rabagliati had lent Seymour especially for the task, and sped up to their new base for parachute training—Ringway Airport in Wilmslow. Tommy broke into a wry smile years later when he thought about the inconvenient location. ‘It all had to be done in the most difficult and expensive way, otherwise it was no good,’ he suggested dryly.
First came the preparatory phase of their training, when the agents were protected by a harness. Before their technique had become adequate, however, it was time for the real thing. Over the next four days, they parachuted day and night. Sneum recalled: ‘You had to do six jumps to get a certificate, although what use that piece of paper could have been to us where we were going was anyone’s guess. Then we had to do a couple of jumps from low altitude. I did at least ten jumps that week.’
Night jumps from low heights were the most treacherous. Tommy would still be adapting his eyes to the darkness when he was jerked upwards by the sudden opening of his parachute; and he would barely have recovered before colliding with the ground below. ‘How I didn’t break my legs on that first night of jumping, I’ll never know,’ he said.
In the final twenty-four hours of the course they made three jumps, the last one at night. Due to high winds, the SIS team was advised not to jump, but an uncomfortable Seymour explained that they had to, since there was no more time in which to complete the course. In the murky light, Sneum’s parachute opened late and