Bletchley Park

On a bright Saturday morning, members of the Tonbridge u3a raiding party assembled at three top secret locations around Tonbridge before boarding what appeared to be an ordinary coach. Fortunately, unlike many wartime operations, our mission was not classified, although we did have to face two formidable obstacles: the M25 and the Dartford Crossing.

After a surprisingly smooth journey and a strategic refueling stop at South Mimms, we arrived at Bletchley Park ready to immerse ourselves in one of the most historic places of the Second World War. A volunteer guide welcomed us to the site, provided maps and admission passes and explained the layout of the estate. We were also issued with bright yellow lanyards to help distinguish riends from foes throughout the day. Some were fortunate enough to secure places on guided tours, which were made independently using audio guides that described the various areas of the park. Once inside, visitors were free to wander through the mansion, huts and exhibitions that reveal the remarkable work carried out in complete secrecy during the war. At its peak, around 9,000 people worked here 24/7 on a three shift system. Remarkably, around 70% of the workforce were women — a statistic that does not seem unusual today. Being a Saturday, the site was busy but it was still possible to explore the huts and extract images from small glimpses into the pressure, ingenuity and determination of those who worked there.

One unexpected attraction was the garage, home to a 1937 Packard used in the 2001 film Enigma. The vehicle was donated to the Bletchley Park Trust by Sir Mick Jagger and proved a popular stop for many visitors.

At the appointed time we departed Bletchley Park somewhat quieter after a long and interesting day finding out about an almost hidden world, which undoubtedly shortened the war and led us to victory in WW2.. “We counted them out, then we counted them all back in (including the Yellow Lanyards!). No one was left behind!”

NORMA’S STORY

By Julie Grimsey

My Mother-in-law, Norma Grimsey, a Private in the Royal Signals, worked at Bletchley during WWII, as a wireless operator. Morse code was her expertise, hence she was involved in deciphering messages sent from France by carrier pigeon. Apparently, German soldiers would shoot down carrier pigeons, in case they were conveying special messages. 59 military pigeons, each with its army number, were awarded the PDSA Dickin Medal, equivalent to the Victoria Cross, for their bravery and service to the nation. A couple of years ago our family visited Bletchley and collectively decided to sponsor a brick in the Codebreakers’ Wall to commemorate Norma. When the Trips Team advertised the outing to Bletchley Park, I was keen to see the wall for myself. Fortunately, my sister-in-law had details of where to find the brick, as there seemed to be thousands assembled. Like everyone else who worked in the secret facility, Norma had signed the Official Secrets’ Act. For 50 years, she and Ethel Bahlam, who also lived in East Bergholt, nodded in greeting to each other, never acknowledging that they were simultaneously at Bletchley. Eventually, once the embargo had been lifted, they had afternoon tea together in the village and discussed their experiences, never previously mentioned to anyone. They were certainly a special generation.

It was tremendous to see Norma Double (Grimsey) with ..._ recorded below her name, which is Morse Code for “V”, indicating that she was a veteran. Back in civilian life, she fell in love with Gordon Grimsey. However, upon marriage, she was no longer permitted to continue working at the factory where they met. It seems extraordinary that the social norms of the 1940s and 1950s imposed strict—and, to modern eyes, antiquated—rules, limiting young people’s opportunities and prospects. Many who had served at Bletchley Park left without references or recognition for their vital contributions, and with no ability to include their specialised skills on a CV. Norma, who had dreamed of becoming a doctor, was never given the chance to pursue that ambition. Alan Turing, too, might have played an even greater role in computing had he not been arrested and persecuted for his homosexuality. One cannot help wonder whether Silicon Valley might have emerged in Cambridge rather than California.