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‘Just draw it for me, would you, Sneum?’

Feeling like salt was being rubbed in his wounds, Tommy duly obliged, trying to think of the intelligence he might one day glean in return for his cooperation.

‘Well, now we know, Flight Lieutenant,’ said Meinicke with some ambivalence. ‘Thank you. I’m sure that will make life much easier.’

Both Sneum’s character and the waters around the west coast of Denmark suddenly seemed much easier for Meinicke to fathom. So he suggested that his young Danish friend might want to meet some Abwehr (German Intelligence) officers, who were now firmly established in Copenhagen’s Hotel Cosmopolit. Tommy didn’t know how to react as Meinicke penned a note of introduction. The German explained that it amounted to a reference and could open doors in the capital, should Tommy so desire.

Most Danes with Allied sympathies would have come up with an excuse to steer clear of such a snake pit. ‘But I always liked to do what was least expected of me,’ Sneum explained years later. So, within a week, he travelled to Copenhagen for an informal meeting in the bar of the Hotel Cosmopolit. He quickly persuaded the occupiers that his loyalties were now firmly with them, and that he was keen to be of service. Over a casual drink, he was asked his opinion on a number of issues, including the strategic importance of various airfields in Denmark. Tommy defended his actions later, insisting:

I only gave them information that I knew they already had, or could easily get hold of. And I took the opportunity to plant information too, or ideas that I thought could hurt them. For example, I might tell them they had no reason to be afraid of one particular thing, and suggest that there was more reason to be afraid of another instead, when in fact the opposite was true. If they appeared confident of something I would say, ‘Are you sure?’ in a way that might plant a seed of doubt in their minds. They asked me: ‘How are the Danes feeling about us?’ And of course I replied: ‘You’re nice people.’

As the evening gathered pace, Tommy took his new acquaintances to an illicit drinking den he knew, hidden away in the cellar of a nearby tobacconist’s. Ove Petersen, who owned both businesses, illegal and legal, took Sneum aside and told him in no uncertain terms that he feared the consequences of this impulsive visit. Now that Tommy had shown the Germans his secret bar, right across the road from their Intelligence Headquarters, Petersen was worried that he would either be closed down by the occupiers or branded a traitor by the locals. Sneum assured him that neither would happen, since the Germans were far too fond of their beer to eliminate such an inviting option. He also argued that it would be perfectly patriotic for Petersen to welcome the occupiers, because he intended to mislead them on certain key issues. Tommy told his friend that if the Abwehr officers seemed interested in someone as a potential source of intelligence, he would raise questions about the contact’s sympathies. Meanwhile, if a loyal Dane’s behavior had aroused suspicion, he would allay the Germans’ fears.

Although Petersen understood the logic, he still looked relieved when they all left in the early hours, with the drunken Nazis barely able to climb the stairs. And he was not too thrilled to see the process repeated several times in the following weeks, until the sudden appearance of Germans in his little den became almost routine.

Later Tommy revealed that throughout this time he was walking a tightrope with his new acquaintances: a single verbal slip could have led to his imprisonment, deportation or worse. He insisted: ‘I kept conversation down to small-talk. I was never so inquisitive that they could be suspicious. I just talked and talked. Now and again I came in with a question that could mean nothing but could mean a bit. You had to show the Germans you were pro-German. Once I had done that, some of the Abwehr even told me where they