An unsung heroine
Posted by Nick Milne on November 7, 2011
The BBC is reporting the discovery that a member of the Royal Society of Chemistry – a young woman named Mabel Elliott – was instrumental in breaking up a German spy ring in 1915. The enterprising chemist was working as a censor for the War Ministry in London and intercepted letters sent by an “American” businessman to his contacts in Holland:
The German spy, Anton Kuepferle, had arrived in Liverpool from the United States, under the guise of being an American citizen and wool merchant.
But Miss Elliott found that his business letters to an address in Holland contained secret writing in lemon juice, which when treated revealed information about defence deployments around London and Royal Navy movements around the coast.
Mr Kuepferle was arrested and accused of spying, using invisible ink to send messages to the German secret services.
US newspapers carried stories of his claim to be an innocent American salesman – and described how he had been under surveillance in his hotel room near Victoria Station in London.
But before his trial had been concluded, the accused spy was found hanged in his cell, after apparently using a silk scarf to kill himself. He was said to have left a message admitting that he was a German officer.
A further two spies who were accomplices of Mr Kuepferle were also caught.
Not a very surprising discovery – such things likely happened quite regularly – but a useful reminder that the plots of so many juvenile novels at the time were not just fanciful. To go through that section in Hager and Taylor’s The Novels of World War I: An Annotated Bibliography (for example) is to pass entry after entry consisting of something like, “Tom and his pal Jack/Mary and her friend Kate notice something suspicious and save the day by uncovering a German spy ring.” It does tend to sound a bit monotonous, but it was a fruitful note to strike. With little else they could actually contribute to the war effort, children – diminutive, innocent, unnoticed – could at least relish the prospect of becoming sleuthing informers.
Miss Elliott’s story also stands as a much-needed reminder that there were, in fact, plenty of German spies in England. A thing can have propagandic value – can be used, literally, as propaganda – and still be quite true.
