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Another RantRookards Rant number 17
If your wondering about my early rants and want to read them. Well tough luck, You should have read them on the early Phoenix site.
I have to report that last Sunday we very nealy did not have a programme. About sixteen minutes before air time, a certain person in trying top cook up some popcorn in his microwave - No nothing to do with us - but he triggered the shopping centers fire alarm sysytem. The only problem was that once started they could not switch it off. But with minutes to go, the system switched itself off. Then we found that the studio because of the heat was also on a go slow.. Oh what fun.
Oh and if this little lot comes up for a second time... sorry but spotting a mistake and them trying to re-edit is a problem. Well that's my excuse anyway.
And now for this weeks rant.........I’ve got to be honest with you; for years I liked nothing better then to settle down to watch a good spy film. Best of all those good old late sixties and early seventies films with Michael Cain creeping around swinging sixties London hunting down the evil KGB, or how about those endless James Bond capers. Of course the best of all were the spy novels of John Le Carre, all about George Smiley and his spy catching activities. Long and very very involved they were, and ideal for winter bed time reading or for long journeys.
But then came the end of the cold war, we started loving the Russians, and those old spy stories somewhat lost their appeal. But over the last few years, otherwise top secret files have been opened and we have been learning the truth about our spy masters. And what a disappointment they have turned out to be. Not so much James Bond and all that 007 stuff. No more like a bunch of boring time serving civil servants who were not above getting it totally wrong.
I mean take that story of Moscow’s most trusted UK secret agent. It all came out a couple of years back when it was revealed following her death. A little old 82 year old lady living in retirement in Bexleyheath had for years been one of the KGB’s most trusted and successful agents. Bit of a blow that. I mean it ruins all those James Bond stories of sexy female spies seducing unwary suckers into their beds to reveal their nations secrets for a bit of how’s your father.
No, it seems all the crafty KGB had to do, was to dispatch it’s highly trained army of pensioners – using free British bus passes mind you- out on wild and woolly pensioner coach outings to top secret RAF or USAF bases to munch on their packed lunches whilst noting the various comings and goings.. Even worse for the British Establishment were those shock troops of elderly ladies who the KGB must have disguised as cleaners and tea ladies, who happily picked out secret papers from the daily rubbish. Or latter noted conversations heard whilst wheeling their tea trolleys around MI5 and MI6 headquarters. No wonder our spy hunters never caught them at it, they had long gone home.
Mind you it’s those other little bit’s of information only now coming out about this dear old lady that I really love. The fact everybody in the street knew of her views. That every Saturday, she had twenty copies of the Daily Worker (Now Morning Star) delivered, to give away to her ‘friends.’ An activity that conjures up an image of twenty or so faint hearted communists in the heart of true blue Tory Bexleyheath peeping out from behind their lace curtains awaiting their weekly fix of left wing news and views. And best of all the fact that the KGB were paying her £20 a week pension. I bet she never told the local Social Security office about that.
Now I only ever met one true life KGB agent, a rather nice chap, who when I was working in London, used to work two floors up in the office of TASS the Russian News Agency, where it was well known that it’s journalists had to be career members of the KGB to gain a posting to a sinful London. It’s native London staff also having to having to be card carrying commies to keep their jobs.
We used to meet as we both appeared for work, both of us being on the early shift. Him upstairs and me down in the basement of a London Radio News Station. We had first met when the overnight phone in show I was presenting at the time had received a letter written in Russian. What to do, then we had a thought. How to get translated from Russian into English, and who better to turn to help, then our friend upstairs.
Mind you the KGB were not above getting it totally wrong as well. According to my ‘friend in Tass’ ne fine Christmas eve, Moscow decided that what the average Russian reader wanted to see in his Christmas morning newspaper was the real dirt about the UK. Find it they ordered. “nothing happening here said the Tass London reporter – It’s a holiday – and the country has closed down till after news years day.” “Don’t care” came Moscow’s reply – “find a story lots of empty space to fill !”
And so dear children, after knocking back a bottle of Vodka, our lonely Russian Journalist, grabbed his copy of Oliver Twist by a certain Charles Dickens and fed to first two chapters down the tele-printer line to a very happy Moscow editor. A Yay, did the stuff get printed on Christmas morning, and low did somebody spot the story and mighty was the laughter in certain British Quarters in Moscow. And very unhappy was the very hung over Russian journalist on being told that Moscow had found a new posting for him - as sub editor of some Siberian week rag.
We often used to meet after that on the late train home to Essex, Me heading home to Brentwood, and him travelling onwards to Colchester. Now it all falls into place, Russian, KBG agent. Living in Colchester... I just hope the Army knew about him.
Article by Dennis Rookard, 5 Jun 2007 |
 
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