Two reviews by Professor Ross Fitzgerald
‘The Secret War: Spies, Codes and Guerrillas 1939-1945.’
By Max Hastings
HarperCollins Publishing London 2015
ISBN 10: 0007503741
RRP , $32.99
Reviewed by Ross Fitzgerald
While almost all historical narratives, including the recent account of the intertwined lives of John and Sunday Reed, are of necessity tentative and speculative, as Sir Max Hastings argues in his most recent book, ‘The Secret War’, “they become far more so when spies are involved.
As Hastings explains, when chronicling battles, writers can relatively reliably record how many ships were sunk and aircraft shot down, how much ground was won or lost and how many soldiers and sailors were killed. But secret intelligence generates, as he usefully puts it, “a vast, unreliable literature, some of it produced by protagonists for their own glorification or justification.
It is pleasing to report that, in researching and writing this fascinating book, Hastings has followed his own advice that “skepticism is essential about all accounts related to intelligence in every nation, and thus to the memoirs of agents, official reports, published histories and even contemporary documents. This is because almost all participants in all fields associated with supposedly secret intelligence, especially in a conflict as extended as World War II, are likely to a greater or lesser extent to have lied, or at least to have hidden much of the truth. Indeed, often it was their job to do so.
In this monumental book, Hastings has exploited massive archives in Britain, Germany and the United States. In particular, he has uncovered and effectively utilised a treasure trove of previously untranslated Russian material. In doing so, he reveals and reinforces the fact that, while Britain’s contribution to the Allied Victory may have been subordinate to that of the Soviet Union and the USA, in the main, Winston Churchill made much more effective use of secret materials than did either Hitler or Stalin , who were both extremely suspicious of their respective intelligence agencies.
Probably the most productive secret agent during World War II was Richard Sorge , who worked for the Red Army’s intelligence organisation GRU. However, because of Stalin’s paranoid response to the material Sorge supplied, his influence upon actual Kremlin policy is much more doubtful. The same applies to the information supplied by an American, Harry Dexter White, who was one of Moscow’s most important secret sources.
Hastings quite rightly concludes that Allied code breaking operations against Germany, Italy and Japan, especially the English operation based at Bletchley Park, 50 miles from London, “exercised far more influence than did any spy. Indeed, in a key chapter entitled “Guerrilla, Hastings also concludes that code breakers, especially in Great Britain, were collectively more important than all the resistance fighters and partisans in France and the rest of Europe put together.
As is now widely known, most prominent among the hugely talented team of code breakers at Bletchley Park was Alan Turing , a mathematician from Cambridge University. As a result of being persecuted for being homosexual, Turing committed suicide in 1954, sixteen days before his 42nd birthday. He died from cyanide poisoning.
A pivotal section of ‘The Secret War’ involves Hastings deeply rooted skepticism about the performance of MI6. In this, he is clearly influenced by a number of informed contemporary witnesses who thought poorly of Stewart Menzies , commonly known as “C , and of some of his senior officers. This especially applies to the historian and noted German linguist Hugh Trevor-Roper and author Malcolm Muggeridge , both of whom worked for British intelligence and had a very jaundiced view of Menzies.
But other more impartial observers also had a negative, if not quite as disparaging, opinion of the work of the head of MI6. These sources included the chairman of Britain’s Joint Intelligence Committee, Bill Bentinck; the Permanent Under Secretary at the Foreign Office, Sir Alexander Cadogan, and especially Nigel Clive who worked extensively for MI6. When they criticised MenziesÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ lack of ability in supervising British spy craft and other forms of intelligence, all three cultivated Englishmen, in their assessment of the head of MI6, as the author puts it, “had no axes to grind.
Yet Hastings is the first to admit that a number of the intelligence foot soldiers and new recruits who flooded into Broadway (the headquarters of MI6) were “exotic!
The supremely cynical Muggeridge wrote: “Writers of thrillers tend to gravitate to the secret service as surely as the mentally unstable become psychiatrists, or the impotent pornographers. While much of this assessment is hyperbole, Hastings seems in some ways to concur. “Thus, he writes, “was Graham Greene dispatched to Freetown, Sierra Leone; Muggeridge himself , a veteran foreign correspondent , to Lourenco Marques, in Portuguese Mozambique; and the journalist Kim Philby welcomed into Broadway.
As Hastings starkly concludes, it became “a source of dismay to career intelligence officers, protective of MI6’s reputation, that its wartime recruits who later commanded most public attention were all either mavericks or traitors.
Hastings is particularly revealing about the intelligence career of Malcolm Muggeridge who, for two years, was MI6’s main man in Lourenco Marques. There he lodged at the Polana hotel along with Dr Leopold Werz, the German vice-consul and representative in Mozambique of Abwehr, the German security agency. Muggeridge, unforgettably, described this notorious Nazi intelligence operative as “youthful, blond, pink and earnest!
As well as shining considerable light on Allied intelligence-gatherers and their ostensible leaders, ‘The Secret War’ reveals much about the leaders on the German side. This especially applies to the head of Abwehr, Admiral Wilhelm Canaris.
Controversially but plausibly, Hastings summarises the situation thus: “Far from being a substantial historical figure, (Canaris) was a small one, grappling with dilemmas and difficulties far beyond his capabilities. Trevor-Roper professed to see a close resemblance between admiral Canaris and Stewart Menzies , his British counterpart. Both men, he thought, were “conservative, honourable , and weak.
Yet because of its feudal suzerainty and tight control over Bletchley Park, by the end of the war MI6’s influence, and reputation especially in Great Britain, had soared.
As Hastings explains in the book’s final chapter, “Decoding Victory, Menzies kept his job as “C until 1952. This was despite Kim Philby’s betrayal to Moscow of MI6’s most sensitive early Cold War operations and informants, which resulted in the loss of many lives. As it eventuated, Menzies lived in what seemed to be untroubled retirement until his death in 1968.
In the autumn of 1945, Trevor-Roper, who by that time probably knew more about the Abwehr than any German, was commissioned by MI6 to travel to Berlin and explore the circumstances of the Fuhrer’s death. This enabled him to turn his subsequent report into a best-selling book, ‘The Last Days of Hitler.’ Thereafter, at Oxford University, he resumed his career as a brilliant and widely read historian.
However, Trevor-Roper’s reputation as a scholar was tarnished, probably permanently, by his endorsement of the authenticity of the 1983 “Hitler diaries , which turned out to be fake. Controversial, cantankerous, and snobbish to the end, Trevor-Roper died in 2003.
Although a little too long and sometimes cluttered with detail, ‘The Secret War’ is a prodigious work of scholarship. Moreover, it is hard to disagree with HastingsÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ statement that “while skepticism about the secret world is indispensable, so too is a capacity for wonder.
As this brilliant analysis reveals, some tales about European spy craft and code breaking, especially from 1939 to 1945, which once seemed too fabulous to be real have now proven to be true. I will not spoil prospective readersÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ enjoyment by detailing what they are.
The only weakness in HastingsÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ gripping narrative is the infuriating overuse of the utterly unnecessary phrase “of course. A competent copy editor would have eliminated them all. And, for the record, in ‘The Secret War’ Australia does not receive a single mention.
Professor Ross Fitzgerald, a columnist with ‘The Australian’, most recently co-authored the political/sexual satire ‘Going Out Backwards : A Grafton Everest Adventure.’Professor Fitzgerald is currently researching and co-authoring, ‘A Dozen Soviet Spies Down Under?’
Modern Love: The Lives of John & Sunday Reed
By Lesley Harding and Kendrah Morgan
The Miegunyah Press, An imprint of Melbourne University Publishing 2015
RRP , $45
Reviewed by Ross Fitzgerald
John and Sunday Reed are arguably Australia’s most famous art patrons and a saucy and deeply unusual couple they were too. Part of their patronage involved free love and they didn’t mind the occasional mÃƒÂ©nage a trois either. Yet despite their Bohemian tendencies, the Reeds hailed from establishment families in Hobart and Melbourne.
The artists who benefitted from their patronage include some of the greats of Australian art , Sidney Nolan, Sam Atyeo, Albert Tucker, John Perceval, Arthur Boyd, Charles Blackman and Noel Counihan. But as ‘Modern Love’ explains and elucidates, some of these artists were at the same time emotionally, if not artistically, damaged by their relationship with the Reeds.
In 1943, John Reed and the editor of the Adelaide-based avant-garde magazine ‘Angry Penguins’, Max Harris, joined forces in the publishing firm Reed & Harris. However John was able to distance himself from the latter’s misfortune when, a year later, the Ern Malley poems that Harris published were revealed to be an elaborate hoax concocted by two anti-modernist Sydney poets, James McAuley and Harold Stewart. Eventually John Reed and Max Harris fell out.
John and Sunday Reed were also particularly close to the talented Australian poet and editor Barrett (Ã¢â‚¬ËœBarrieÃ¢â‚¬â„¢) Reid , with whom their relationship was relatively unproblematic and which lasted right up until the final days of both of the Reeds.
Of fragile and delicate disposition and prone to nervous breakdowns, Sunday, who in the early 1930s studied art under George Bell in his Bourke Street Studio School in Melbourne, was a member of the rich and powerful Baillieu dynasty. In contrast, John, who worked as a solicitor in Collins Street in Melbourne’s CBD, was much more emotionally stable. But like his mercurial wife, John Reed was a great supporter and patron of the arts and of modernist painting in particular.
In 1934, John and Sunday (who had married on 13 January 1932) purchased a semi-rural property on the outskirts of Melbourne. They dubbed their new home, which came to boast a fine garden, Ã¢â‚¬ËœHeideÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ , an abbreviation of Heidelberg. As Lesley Harding and Kendrah Morgan point out in their helpful preface to ‘Modern Love’, the Reed’s “could have hardly imagined that eighty years later Ã¢â‚¬ËœHeideÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ would be the site of a renowned art museum and widely regarded as the birthplace of Australian modernism.
A key to understanding the ReedsÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ highly volatile open marriage and also Sunday’s desperate need to adopt a child is to be found in her unhappy first marriage to an Irish-American. Much to her parentsÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ concern, for three years from 31 December 1926 she remained married to Leonard Quinn , who was also a Roman Catholic, which was a decided negative, especially to her father!
A serial philanderer, Quinn gave Sunday gonorrhea, which necessitated her having a hysterectomy. Tragically, Sunday was pregnant at the time and the baby was aborted. All of this meant that she couldn’t have any of her own children.
The process of constructing this compelling narrative was, the authors explain, “akin to putting together an immense jigsaw , after which a detailed picture of the Reeds slowly emerged.
In their beautifully illustrated book, Harding and Morgan are mindful that those who knew John and Sunday Reed may find that their account “will bring to the surface memories both good and bad. This especially applies to sometimes harrowing details about the ReedsÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ own tangled relationships and in particular the interactions with their adopted son Sweeney (1944-1979) – who was actually the child of artist Joy Hester, diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma shortly after Sweeney’s birth. Moreover, it later emerged that Albert Tucker, who married Hester in 1941, was not Sweeney’s biological father. In 1960, when Sweeney was only fifteen, Hester died of a cancer that had seemed to be in remission.
Despite the sometimes lurid descriptions, especially of interpersonal relations, in ‘Modern Love’ the authors hope that this joint biography (in both senses of the word) will “extend the understanding of the Reeds as individuals , with all their strengths and shortcomings , and as historical entities.
In the main, ‘Modern Love’ succeeds in this task , in that, after reading this challenging book, most readers will surely be left with an appreciation of John and Sunday’sdetermination in promoting their modernist artistic vision and their own often convoluted and sometimes destructive sexual and personal lives. Indeed, what clearly emerges, at least to this reviewer, is the ReedsÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ powerful, if often idiosyncratic, devotion to each other characterised by what Harding and Morgan describe as “five decades marked by love, loss, achievement, estrangement and heartbreak.
Yet not all that the authors know has been put to paper and published. Hence Harding and Morgan, rather tantalisingly, write that: “In some instances we found the truth was stranger than fiction, and decided to withhold some particularly sensitive material out of respect for those still living.
What a shame that, 82 years after establishing ‘Heide’, we are still not being told what the authors regard as the full and unvarnished story of John and Sunday Reed and of all the Australian artists who formed such a pivotal role in their lives.
One of the great strengths of ‘Modern Love’ is the vast array of characters who crisscross the lives, not just of the Reeds themselves, but also of those who visited Heide. These include future erratic Labor leader Dr HV Evatt and his hugely talented wife Alice. Indeed, when Evatt became Minister for External Affairs he took with him, as an untrained aide and personal adviser, Sam Atyeo , whose controversial utterances and antics well and truly got up the noses of other diplomats, both Australian and otherwise. This was until Liberal Party heavyweight, Robert Gordon Menzies, on becoming prime minister, promptly dispensed with Atyeo’s “services.
Yet, as much as they admired Sam Atyeo, John and Sunday , who had spent time in Paris with young Sweeney , seem to have been envious of the fact that Atyeo had been able not just to meet, but to continue to mix with, famous identities of the Parisian and wider European art world.
Sometimes sexual freedom at Heide took its toll. By the end of 1941 and before Sidney Nolan left, ostensibly to fight in World War II, his relationship with Sunday Reed had developed into much more than a passionate physical attachment. As the authors explain, “There was no doubt in the minds of those close to them that the pair had fallen deeply in love and that John’s role in the mÃƒÂ©nage was threatened.
Despite the fact that he had resumed an affair with artist Moya Dyring, John Reed found the Nolan complication to his unorthodox marriage deeply upsetting. The situation became even more complicated when Sunday was utterly devastated by Nolan’s departure. Predictably though, the artist of Ned Kelly fame did not remain long as a member of the armed forces of Australia.
Eventually, on 25 March 1948 at St Stephen’s Presbyterian Church, Sydney Nolan married John Reed’s sister Cynthia. Their marriage resulted in an estrangement from Heide and the Reeds. John Reed came to regard the loss of Nolan from their lives as one of what he termed a “litany of defeats.
In the autumn of 1967, John and Sunday moved into a revamped house, which they named “Heide 11 , to distinguish the new dwelling from “Old Heidi. But things became extremely painful when, in 1971, Nolan published ‘Paradise Garden’, an intensely personal account of his tumultuous life with the Reeds in the 1940s. John and Sunday Reed found this extremely hurtful.
In 1976, Cynthia Nolan committed suicide in London. Within three months of Cynthia’s death, Sidney Nolan moved in with Sunday’s close friend Mary Perceval, nee Boyd. Nine months later Sidney and Mary were married, In March 1979, Sweeney Reed, who was just 34, also suicided.
Even though she continued to work on her much-loved garden at Heide until shortly before her own demise, Sunday never recovered from Sweeney’s death. Three weeks after the opening of Heidi Park and Art Gallery, on 5 December 1981, the seemingly indefatigable John Reed, after a long battle with cancer, died. His final words to his wife were overheard to be: “Darling, you have made my life.
Ten days later, stricken with grief, Sunday Reed took an overdose of sleeping pills and died on 15 December 1981. Only the extremely loyal Barrie Reid was with her. When her doctor visited the following morning, he allegedly remarked that she had died of a broken heart!
Fittingly, John and Sunday’s ashes were joined beneath a river red gum tree at their beloved Heide.
Professor Ross Fitzgerald, a columnist with ‘The Australian’, most recently co-authored the political/sexual satire ‘Going Out Backwards : A Grafton Everest Adventure.’ Professor Fitzgerald is currently researching and co-authoring, ‘A Dozen Soviet Spies Down Under?’
THE SYDNEY INSTITUTE REVIEW ISSUE 2, FEBRUARY 2016