Hanslope Park: The True Home of Britain’s Spy Gadgets

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Located just outside a quaint British village in North Buckinghamshire is a mysterious country estate concealed by a wall of trees and shrubbery (and, I’d imagine, an electric fence embellished with several impenetrable security systems), known as Hanslope Park. Or, officially, Her Majesty’s Government Communications Centre.

It is here—twenty or so miles north of its more famous cousin, Bletchley Park—that cutting edge spy gadgets and mind boggling technology has been developed and tested for the British Intelligence services since WWII. It was also once the location of a bizarre murder/suicide and a troublesome poltergeist. But more on that later.

Now, on account of the fact that Hanslope Park is still front and centre in the fight against terrorism (and therefore shrouded in secrecy) we can’t get into the nitty gritty of what goes on there. Not that I know the nitty gritty, of course. I couldn’t possibly. But we can speculate. And being a writer of speculative crime fiction, that suits me just fine.

In Marion Lane and the Deadly Rose, the second book in my historical mystery series that follows the trials and tribulations of apprentice private detective, Marion Lane, we learn that super advanced law-bending gadgets of espionage are crafted beneath the streets of 1950s London, in the Gadgetry Department of the elusive detective agency known as Miss Brickett’s Investigations and Inquiries. Among the many contraptions produced within Miss Brickett’s are clockwork sunbirds with built-in speakers (known as Distracters), self-binding (Twister Rope) for apprehending criminals, metal pipes that can pick up sound through walls and doors (known as Herald Stethoscopes) and a rather savage polygraph machine (known as the Liar’s Eye Glass). At the helm of these creations is a spirited gentleman with a penchant for all things weird and wonderful, Professor Uday Bal and, of course, his trusty assistant, Marion Lane.

But back to the real world…

At Hanslope Park, communication devices (that’s code for instruments that transmit, intercept and decrypt information) are designed, researched and developed through the collective efforts of a number of tech boffins in white coats, each with their own particular set of skills. I was tickled to learn that up until a few years ago, the Park’s chief gadget designer was a woman. I was similarly enthused to discover that some of the contraptions designed in-house during WWII would’ve put Miss Brickett’s collection to shame (well, almost).

Case in point is the very British “biscuit tin radio”, a clandestine radio receiver designed for the Special Operations Executive in 1943. The innocuous looking tins were dropped from the heavens (by parachute) to active agents in occupied France, who would use them to send and receive classified signals to their colleagues in Britain. Another example of our boffins’ creativity during the war was the range of compasses and miniature cameras that were hidden inside everything from matchboxes to coins to shaving brushes and pocket watches. And what if you required a weapon while out in the field, yet couldn’t risk being seen with a pistol? Fear not! The gadget boffins at Hanslope would simply reconfigure your favourite cigar pipe or fountain pen by carving out a secret compartment and inserting a nifty dagger or poison-laden dart. But if you fancied a more theatrical approach, the boffins might supply you with a set of explosives sealed inside a dead rat, which can be inconspicuously placed in the enemy’s factories, base camps…you get the picture.

Indeed, there was (and is) no invention too outrageous and no technology too advanced for the folk at Hanslope. But as Professor Uday Bal and Marion Lane will certainly tell you, it’s occasionally difficult to concentrate on designing spectacular contraptions of espionage when things around you are amiss.

Which brings us to the strange tale of the Squire, the ghost and the gamekeeper.

As rumour has it, the main establishment at Hanslope Park—a stately home at the centre of the facility—is haunted by the troubled spirit of the park’s former owner, Squire Edward Hanslope Watts. Or maybe by his murderer, William Farrow. Over the years, the Park’s inhabitants have reported several unusual goings-on, such as mysterious footsteps belonging to no one, hazy figures appearing from thin air, incoherent mumbles in dark corridors. Now, before you write off these reports as village gossip or the imaginings of exhausted boffins, I’d like to tell you a story…

On Sunday, July 12, 1912, which was by all accounts a bright and cheery summer’s day, Edward Watts (67 years old at the time) and his wife, Edith were walking home to Hanslope from a church service along a narrow country lane. Edward, being the gentleman that he was, strode several paces ahead of his wife through a wooded area now known as The Grove. They chatted as they walked, perhaps about the fine weather, or their recent holiday, or perhaps—more solemnly—about their favourite dog, who’d recently died under the care of their disgruntled gamekeeper.

But when they approached the Park’s main entrance, there was an ear-splitting blast, followed in quick succession by another. Edith looked on in horror as her husband fell to the ground, a gunshot wound to his head and another to his back. She screamed for help, but as the neighbours arrived and the Squire took his final breath, yet another shot was heard.

It was only much later, and following a thorough search of the area, that a body was discovered, that of the estate’s gamekeeper—William Farrow, who had committed suicide (after committing the Squire’s murder) with a double-barrelled shotgun.

To this day, it is unclear exactly why Farrow murdered his employer, and then turned the gun on himself. But speculation abounds. Some claim (including Edith) that Farrow was a heavy drinker and might have been depressed. Others say the incident was brought on by the fact that Farrow had recently been told by the Squire that his services at the estate were no longer required (it has even been suggested that this dismissal had something to do with the death of the Hanslope’s beloved pet, who was under Farrow’s care). But no matter the motive, it is certain the Squire and his gamekeeper parted this earth with unfinished business, and might be inclined to wander the grounds of Hanslope Park for eternity. Which is something to keep in mind if you’re considering a career at Her Majesty’s Government Communications Centre, who are—by the way—actively seeking an IT engineer (boffin), a principal project manager and even a cleaner. And while I’ve no idea what qualities these positions require, I’ve a feeling you’d need to be mighty good at keeping secrets (counts me out, doesn’t it?).

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