Almost four decades later, the passion with which former Conservative Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher fervently contested the publication of ex-MI5 agent Peter Wright’s tell-all Spycatcher book in every conceivable court still baffles many. Even though she was repeatedly cautioned about the likelihood of a crushing defeat, her unwavering persistence may partially be attributed to “Old Stripey”, one of the crimson ministerial boxes that escorted Thatcher to her modest flat beneath the attics of 10 Downing Street every evening.
This particular box, distinguished by a “broad blue stripe” gracing its lid, housed the daily classified briefs from secret service agencies, MI5 and MI6, and was invariably larger than the rest of the ministerial boxes carried upstairs each night. Thatcher had a soft spot for spies and espionage, former Tory minister Jonathan Aitken, who once courted Thatcher’s daughter Carol, shares with Tim Tate, author of ‘To Catch A Spy – How The Spycatcher Affair Brought MI5 in from the Cold’. He suggests that “[she] possessed quite a few blind spots”.
Within her initial few months in office, Thatcher, not fully confident in her leadership, had realised that these intelligence briefs were at her exclusive disposal, conferring “authority and control”. Espionage-themed novels often served as her preferred nighttime literature, recalls Aitken. Arguments to put the intelligence agencies directly under parliamentary supervision ran counter to Thatcher’s “decidedly possessive stance towards her intelligence services”.
From the outset, figurative and literal spies played a substantial role in her workload, beginning with Queen Elizabeth’s art connoisseur, Anthony Blunt, whose clandestine work for Russia had been a loosely guarded secret among the intelligence circles for several years. Andrew Boyle’s book, ‘Climate of Treason’, released in the summer of 1979, disclosed that Kim Philby, Guy Burgess, Donald Maclean – the purported “Trio Ring” – were not solitary operators and that the ring extended to a minimum of five individuals.
While Boyle did not specifically mention Blunt, Private Eye did, prompting cabinet secretary Robert Armstrong, a man of significant intelligence connections through his ascendancy in Whitehall, to caution Thatcher: “This is a ticking time bomb. Without a comprehensive understanding, it is both incredibly simple and dangerous to unwittingly step off track”.
In a session at the House of Commons on the 21st of November that year, Thatcher publicly acknowledged that Anthony Blunt had been a Soviet spy since his induction within the Cambridge circle in the 1930s. Her assertions, however, quickly diverged from the truth. She put forth that Anthony Blunt, who was absorbed into MI5 in 1940, had compromised British concerns but did not impact ‘British military actions or British lives’, a claim that MI5 knew was fallacious, given the death of a Moscow agent, which was attributed to Blunt.
Moreover, Thatcher distorted facts while discussing the American who was coerced into Russian service’s 1963 proposal to testify against Blunt. This official disclosure exempted the influential Blunt from prosecution and thereafter, bestowed him with immunity.
The chronology of events led to her collaborating with a senior governmental servant a year later, to pre-emptively blunt the implications of the accusations that Roger Hollis, a previous director of MI5, was a Russian infiltrator. This was achieved by briefing Chapman Pincher, a ‘compliant and consistent’ right-wing journalist, regarded as an ally.
Despite her posterior assertions that intelligence authorities should remain anonymous, Thatcher permitted the disclosure of top-secret intelligence to Pincher for his novel, ‘Their Trade is Treachery’, published in 1981.
In exchange for the leaks,Pitcher was expected to and did disseminate the desired narrative – that Hollis had been ‘absolutely absolved’. Even though Hollis may not have been culpable, he was never exonerated.
By this time, Peter Wright, was residing in inadequate conditions in Tasmania. Bitter at having been denied his rightful retirement pay on leaving MI5 in 1975, Wright fumed at Thatcher’s statement to the House of Commons.
Even had Blunt not been implicated as a spy, there would have been animosity from Wright regardless. Blunt, a sophisticated, strongly-networked societal figure and an arts scholar, was a gay man who sought clandestine homosexual encounters in public toilets during an era when such behaviour was criminalised and could result in a two-year prison sentence with strenuous labour.
Although he was clandestinely a spy, the ostracised Wright held contempt for Blunt and his MI5 compatriots. Wright perceived them as considering themselves as the “gentlemen” of the cricketing analogy and viewing people from humble backgrounds like Wright as mere “players”. His resentment towards them was intensified as a result of their covert lifestyles.
These sentiments originated from a thwarted academic ambition. Wright had the potential to attend Cambridge University, having passed the required school exams, but his prospects were shattered by his father’s plunge into alcohol addiction after being sacked in the early 1930s.
Labelled an adamant rightist, even by his own admission, Wright had dedicated the latter part of his MI5 career to counter-espionage activities. He was, however, vexed by MI5’s inability to properly inquire into its own agents’ misdemeanours, certain that Blunt was among those who resisted such investigations.
High on Wright’s list of culprits was Roger Hollis, alongside others. Upon quitting the intelligence agency, the bitter Wright carried with him a list of 35 people identified in MI5 records as Russian informants, yet left unpunished. He asserted that 20 more influential individuals ought to have been listed as spies but were overlooked due to the establishment’s reluctance to upend its status quo.
Widely recognised now, much of the Spycatcher saga includes Thatcher’s vehement efforts to quash publication and Armstrong’s disgrace during an Australian court hearing where he had to concede that he had “misrepresented the truth”.
“Armstrong was dishonest; he lied. He didn’t simply twist the truth. He committed perjury to safeguard the shoddy conspiracy that he and Thatcher had concocted in 1980 to neutralise the scandal involving Hollis.” Contrary to some, Tate maintains that a hefty proportion of Wright’s accusations were founded on solid presumptive proof regardless of Wright’s idiosyncrasies: “It wasn’t merely his own wacky pursuit. He unearthed, discovered and furnished evidence.”.
Despite his controversial actions against Labour Prime Minister Harold Wilson, believing he was a Russian agent, Wright remains a critical figure in historical investigations about UK’s internal affairs. His campaign caused considerable harm to Wilson and fed into his paranoia about being a victim of intelligence schemes.
Wright heavily criticized the British establishment, labeling it as wholly corrupt. His extreme right-wing views made him convinced that union leaders, despite scanty evidence, were Soviet sub-agents. He was insistent that Wilson was an undercover spy.
His conduct, in several instances, was reprehensible, with his plot against Wilson deemed as irrefutable proof. Thus, it casts a shadow of doubt over all his subsequent assertions.
Tate, known for his documentary films since the 1980s, has strived for several years to get the entirety of the Spycatcher files archived at the National Archives in Kew. It was surprising for him to find the files unreleased when he initially searched in 2019. He was then repeatedly misinformed and hindered by the Cabinet Office in his pursuit.
Fortunately, a section was unveiled in 2023, but 32 Cabinet Office files remain undisclosed despite Charles Moore, Thatcher’s biographer, and an academic granted access to them.
Tate, indignant about the hushed nature of the process, is willing to confront the Cabinet Office again. He has new leverage now with Labour’s Keir Starmer in office. Aiding his efforts is Malcolm Turnbull, Wright’s former legal representative, and later, Prime Minister of Australia. Turnbull, now in his 70s, remains steadfast in his belief regarding the necessity of releasing the held files.
He is willing to collaborate with the current authors in power to aid in the endeavour. Tate, amused about the new possibility, looks forward to reporting more for the paperback edition.
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