Ursula had a relatively comfortable
and privileged background, and became a communist through ideology. She moved
to Shanghai, where she was appalled by the discrepancy in conditions caused by
wealth. Bored and sickened by her life in Shanghai, she was anxious to do
something more meaningful. She was clearly passionately idealistic, but with
sexism bordering on misogyny, MacIntyre is unable to believe that she supported
the Communist cause for reasons of ideology alone and frequently espouses the
theory that she was attracted to the glamour and the excitement of espionage.
“Ursula was committed to communism, but also increasingly addicted to danger,
the romance of risk, the addictive drug of secrecy.”
Throughout the book he clearly
points us in a certain direction, editorialising in a blunt fashion as if he doesn’t
trust the reader to make up their own mind, or perhaps he mistakes condescension
for humour. He is also critical of other authors, which is spiteful and
unprofessional, merely heightening the sense of smugness. There is a lot of
repetition, suggesting the lack of a disciplined editor and, whereas this is a
great story and would make a great film or novel, this biography has got both a
muddled and didactic approach. He sets the scene very well, even if he does it
multiple times, and he clearly enjoys the complicated details of the meetings
between handlers and recruits in which two people walk towards each other
“holding a green book in one hand and a tennis ball in the other, exactly as
Sonya had instructed. At 4pm on the dot, a stocky man appeared, wearing a pair
of gloves and holding a second pair in his left hand.”
In 1932 when Japanese forces attacked Shanghai, Ursula was “dispatched” to the war zone to discover if Japanese incursions into China presented a potential threat to the Soviet Union. Later she was sent to Mukden, a city in Manchuria in Inner Mongolia (invaded by the Japanese in 1931) “to liaise with the communist partisans, provide them with material assistance, and transmit military and other intelligence to Moscow by radio.” She built her own radios (which she had to bury in the fields) and assembled aerials on the roof (which she had to dismantle each night). She moved to Switzerland, where she ran a spy network, using the “peaceful land of cowbells and cuckoo clocks” as a base to launch operations into enemy territory.
Threatened by possible exposure, she left Switzerland and
took her family to England where she settled in Oxfordshire. When Ursula moved
to Great Rollright, she cycled into the countryside to put messages in a hollow
tree and receive drops with her instructions, but there were no communications
and she began to worry. Basically, the GRU had got the wrong tree. After the
war, Ursula continued to spy for the Communist Party, and in 1949, she went to
Berlin where she continued her work in East Germany. She worked with many
‘famous’ spies, including Alexander Foote, a radio operator who spied for
Russia and Britain, and Klaus Fuchs, who supplied information from the
American, British and Canadian Manhattan Project to the Soviet Union during and
shortly after WWII.
It seems incredible that Ursula
was not caught. Her brother and father were already under surveillance by MI5
and the whole family were considered suspicious. She had been made a colonel in
the Red Army – the only woman to rise so high in Soviet military intelligence.
All of her previous husbands, lovers and many of her recruits were
interrogated, but none betrayed her. Many men couldn’t comprehend that a woman
could be a spy. MacIntyre writes, “Some in MI5 wondered how Ursula could
possibly have time to spy since ‘her hands are fairly full with domestic
duties.’”
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