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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.com2. CULTIVATIONFRIDAY, 8 JUNE 1984GONVILLE & CAIUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGEA sweltering May week was drawing to a close and the rounds of drunkengarden parties that undergraduates organised to celebrate the end offinal exams were winding down. My engineering tutor had just told me atthe Caius College garden party that the faculty had awarded me firstclass honours in my aeronautical engineering final exams. Too muchPimms and the evening sun slanting into Gonville court were making medrowsy as I returned to my rooms.`Tomlinson?' an unfamiliar voice called from behind. `You're Tomlinson,aren't you?' I turned round to see Dr Christopher Pilchard, a tutor inlaw, leaning out of the open window of his ground-floor study. His facewas familiar, but having never met him it was surprising that he knewmy name. He was notorious in the college because of his ginger wig, theresult of a bicycle accident many years earlier which had caused allhis hair to fall out. Slightly tipsy, it was difficult to resistcasually examining his hairline for signs of it as he spoke.`Tomlinson, have you thought about what you're going to do withyourself after you leave?'`Yes, sir,' I replied cautiously, wondering why he should beinterested.`I'm joining the navy, the fleet air arm.'Pilchard snorted dismissively, as if he didn't approve of the military.`Listen, Tomlinson, if you ever change your mind, but would like to tryyour hand at another form of government service, then let me know.'With that he ducked back into his study, taking care not to catch hiswig on the lip of the window sash.Continuing on to my rooms, it felt flattering to have been approached.For it had been a discreet invitation to join the British SecretIntelligence Service, more commonly referred to by its old wartimename, MI6. Every Oxford and Cambridge college and leading Britishuniversity has a `talent spotter' like Pilchard, a don sympathetic toMI6 who looks out for suitable recruits. The majority of MI6 recruitscome this way from the two most prestigious universities in Britain,though it is not foolproof - Philby, Maclean and Burgess were allrecruited into MI6 the same way.Pilchard's approach was flattering but, climbing the creaky woodenstairs to my digs at the top of D staircase, I decided not to pursuethe offer - for the moment at least. Having read a few John Le Carr‚page- 7 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com
The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comnovels, I reckoned the job seemed stuffy and desk-bound. Nor did Iidentify much with the other undergraduates whom Pilchard hadapproached - conservative, establishment arts students who spent mostof their days lolling around drunk in the college bar. For them,getting a tap on the shoulder from Pilchard was a rite of passage, asign that they had made their mark on college life. If that was thesort of person MI6 wanted then it wasn't the right career for me.Inspired by the books I had read in my spare time at Cambridge, Iwanted a career that offered travel and adventure: Wilfred Thesiger,the desert explorer who crossed the Arabian `empty quarter' when onlyin his early 20s; Sir Francis Chichester, who single-handedlycircumnavigated the world by sail and almost by light aircraft; Antoinede St Exup‚ry, the French pioneer aviator whose semiautobiographicalnovel Vol de Nuit, set in pre-war Argentina, I had so greatly enjoyed;Captain Oates, a former member of the college, who selflesslysacrificed himself on Scott's 1914 Antarctic expedition and whose flagwas displayed in the college dining-hall, reminding us of his exploitsevery evening. It seemed to me that the best way to lead an adventurouslife like these role-models, and in a structured and secure career, wasto join the armed services, and the navy appealed to me the most.Pilchard's suggestion, however, was intriguing. Lying back on my narrowbed in the garret room, the evening light slanting in through the openwindow, I wondered what had marked me out amongst the otherundergraduates. On matriculating in the university in 1981, I had beendetermined to do more than just study. My uncle in South Africa hadbeen a member of the Cambridge University Air Squadron, a flying clubsponsored by the Royal Air Force, and he enthused me to join up. Theopportunity to learn to fly at the exacting standards of the RAF andeven get paid a small stipend was an opportunity too good to miss. TheAir Squadron became the focal point of my extracurricular and socialactivities at the university. We learned to fly in the Bulldog, arobust dual-seat training aircraft. My instructor, Flight LieutenantStan Witchall, then one of the oldest still-active officers in the RAF,had been a young Hurricane pilot in the Battle of Britain. Twice a weekI bunked out of engineering lectures and cycled up to Marshall'sairfield, seven kilometres from the centre of Cambridge, for flyinglessons.Scuba-diving was another activity which enthused me, inspired by thefilms of Jacques Cousteau. After I had qualified with the universityclub, Easter holidays were spent in Cornwall diving on the wrecks andreefs of the murky, cold Channel waters, then getting drunk in theevenings on the strong local brews of the old fishing and smugglingvillages. It was nothing like the paradises portrayed in Cousteau'sfilms, but was still exhilarating.The summer holidays of 1982 were spent travelling around Europe on arail-pass that allowed unlimited travel for a flat fee. My budget wastiny, so nights were spent sleeping on trains and the days sightseeing.Thousands of miles of slumber got me as far afield as Morocco andTurkey. The experience gave me the travel bug, enthusing me to gofurther afield.The next year a vacation job in a local bakery yielded enough savingsfor a trip to the Far East. Two months were spent backpacking aroundpage- 8 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com
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