Operation Mincemeat | Life in the English Cotswolds

When I published my article on ‘The Man Who Never Was’, the story of Operation Mincemeat, a year ago, I hadn’t realised that a film was to be released in May 2022. Perhaps, if I had I would have delayed the publication by a few months! In it, I described the rather tenuous connection with my father’s cousin, HAL Fisher. The interest and comments I received made me explore deception used as a weapon during World War II. It was this that led me to learn about the use of plastic surgery to change people’s appearance for the purpose of espionage.

Although surgery to alter appearance has been carried out to a limited extent throughout history it was during the Second World War that it began to be developed in earnest. A popular reason given for this was the desire to treat badly injured pilots who had survived their aircraft being shot down. However, there was a far more secret purpose being carried out too – to assist the SOE (the UK’s Special Operations Executive) in their missions behind enemy lines. In released official documents, the procedures – known euphemistically as ‘permanent make-up’ – are listed as casually as one might write a shopping list: ‘plastic operations to forehead’, ‘surgical operations to ears’, and so on. Once war was over some of the recipients began to talk about their treatment which, although disapproved of by the Government, were not silenced.

*“An excellent agent and a dependable officer” – before and after surgery*

Arthur Rainsford Mowlem, born in New Zealand in 1902, came to England in the late ‘20s to further his development as a medic. In 1936 he joined the practice of Sir Harold Gillies, also a New Zealander and described as ‘the father of modern plastic surgery’. Here they worked alongside pioneering new methods of treatment. It is unknown when or how Mowlem and other surgeons were enlisted to help the SOE and Mowlem never spoke of it during his lifetime. However, in correspondence between him and the SOE he discusses the prospect of surgery to alter the appearance of a French agent. How Mowlem felt about operating on these healthy men is unknown but an un-named surgeon tells of how the work now required of them “was a mockery of all that they had trained for”.

*My mother, Rachel Oberzanek: 21st birthday portrait*

My mother’s career with Odeon Cinemas had progressed rapidly throughout the war and by 1944 she was heading the Licencing Department with a team of assistants. Odeon had, by then, evacuated their offices from London to the small, riverside town of Marlow in Buckinghamshire. She was accommodated in a lovely and old country house in the nearby village of Well End. Living at the Old Malt House must have seemed a different world from the London’s West End where she had been brought up and she would tell of how she would lean out of her bedroom window to pick fruit from the grapevine that grew on the house walls. With extensive grounds, a cook and a housekeeper and the use of a chauffeured car it must have been a life of relative luxury that she would have been unused to. It was here that she also met her future husband – my father – so a very happy and untroubled time for her. All that changed in an instance when, on the first day of December 1945 during the black-out, her car was involved in a head-on accident.

*The Old Malt House, Well End* *– grapevines cover the front of the building – c1943*

In those days of cars with no seat belts, my mother had taken the full force of the crash and had been catapulted through the windscreen. Unconscious, she was taken by ambulance to Wycombe Hospital and with multiple facial and head injuries unexpected to survive the night. Fortunately, Odeon proved to be excellent and supportive employers, driving her parents down from London and accommodating them so that they were able to visit her regularly. On Christmas Day she came out of the coma unaware of what had happened over the past month. She would tell of how she had first heard singing and, opening her eyes, saw a blurred vision of people dressed in white that she though must be angels. They were, of course, her nurses singing a carol! Badly scarred and with broken nose and cheekbones she was finally released from hospital unable to work and embarrassed about being seen in public. In her memoir, she described the first day she had to enter a crowded room and how it fell silent when she appeared, a humiliating and distressing moment.

*My mother, in the grounds of The Old Malt House, and looking so happy, just before the accident that changed her life – and her appearance*

Six months after her accident, Odeon who had been caring for her as well as paying her salary all this time arranged for her to be taken to London to see a doctor at The London Clinic in Harley Street. The doctor was surgeon Arthur Rainsford Mowlem; in mother’s words, “a charming man who promised me he would do all he could.” There followed a series of operations over many weeks where he reconstructed the badly damaged side of her face, repaired the cheekbones, and rebuilt her badly broken nose using part of her hipbone. Looking at her wedding photograph, taken such a short time after in the autumn of 1946, his skilful work is quite extraordinary although my mother kept the picture hidden away; all she could see was a face that didn’t quite belong to her. Nowadays, I imagine, she would have received some sort of counselling but then it was just a case of ‘getting on with it’.

*My parents on their wedding day – just weeks after her face had been reconstructed*

Living well into her 90s, mother’s issues with discomfort in her neck and head waned over time only to be replaced by a later source of (bemused) irritation. When visiting hospitals there would be a succession of doctors and nurses wanting to look at her facial surgery for none had seen such early reconstruction and to see how it had fared over seventy years. She had been told that she was the first civilian to receive plastic surgery and for the remainder of her long life she was eternally grateful to Odeon Cinemas who had cared for her and paid for her treatment. Most of all, she was grateful to Rainsford Mowlem, without whom she would have had a lifetime of disfigurement; to her he was, indeed a hero.

*Mum on her 90th birthday – and seventy years after the facial reconstruction*

To read the story of Operation Mincemeat and The Man Who Never Was click here

References:
Wikipedia Arthur Rainsford Mowlem

Amin, Kavit Rainsford Mowlem: An unsung father of reconstructive surgery

Bailey, Roderick. Special Operations: a hidden chapter in the histories of facial surgery and human enhancement (CC BY 4.0)

EDIT: Today, 21st June, I was delighted to receive this lovely email in response to this blog post from The London Clinic where my mother received her revolutionary treatment 70 years ago. They are happy for me to share it with you – you may need to click on the image of the email to make the typeface clearer…

Grandma was full of sayings that either puzzled us as children, made us laugh or made us think “silly, old Grandma” – often it was all three. One was that you should always go out wearing clean underwear in case you got run over by a bus. The story below just goes to prove that, as always, Grandma was right, well almost right.

*Grandma was full of funny sayings & superstitions*

Herbert Fisher (HAL Fisher), husband of Lettice Ilbert – whose own, remarkable story can be read here – was on his way to work during a WW2 blackout. Warden of New College, Oxford and Chairman of the Conscientious Objectors Tribunal, he was in London for the latter when hit, not by a bus but by a lorry. He died in hospital several days later on the 18^th April 1940. Little would he have thought, or Grandma for that matter, that his underwear would play a prominent part in the history of defeating Nazism.

About the same time as Fisher’s demise, in south Wales, the mother of Glyndwr Michael also died. Michael had always lived with her but now homeless, he made his way to London. It was here, aged 34 and depressed, penniless, and hungry, that he was found two years later in an abandoned warehouse. He was dying from having eaten rat poison, the bait having been left, smeared on bread. The phosphorus in the poison when ingested reacts with the naturally acting stomach acids to produce phosphine gas. The slow death made his body ideal for the purpose that lay ahead.

The British Security Service had been waiting for some time to obtain a body that could be used in an elaborate hoax against the Germans. Operation Mincemeat, as the top-secret plot became known, intended to release false papers on the body of a drowned officer of the British Army. The aim was to deceive the German Military Intelligence into believing plans for the invasion of Greece and Sardinia, whereas in reality, the intention was to invade Sicily. However, it was not felt possible to use the body of a serving officer whilst maintaining the secrecy required.

Major William Martin RM, as Glyndwr Michael’s corpse was to become, was released into the sea off the coast of Spain on the 30^th April 1943 for the tide to carry him ashore. About his person were various personal effects: letters and a photograph from his fiancée, theatre tickets and identity papers. A briefcase had been attached to him carrying the false invasion plans, all with the purpose of making the Germans believe that he had been drowned at sea whilst delivering documents to a British General. The ruse worked and the invasion of Sicily was carried out with considerable ease.

*False papers of Major William Martin, RM [Source: Wikipedia*

Major Martin was buried with full military honours on the island of Huelva, Spain, the deceit engraved into the grave’s headstone. Over the years that followed rumours spread about the true identity of the body. In 1996, an amateur historian Roger Morgan, discovered documents in the Public Records Office and it was later confirmed that the body was indeed that of Glyndwr Michael. Soon after, an additional inscription was added to the headstone: Glyndwr Michael Served as Major William Martin, RM. Back in his hometown of Aberbargoed, Wales his name was added to the war memorial along with the name in Welsh by which he had become known – The Man Who Never Was.

*Grave of The Man Who Never Was, island of Huelva, Spain [Source: Wikipedia]*

Back to Grandma’s warning and HAL Fisher. One of the problems in maintaining the secrecy of Operation Mincemeat was how to find clothing for Major William Martin. Army uniform was not a problem to obtain but how could they find undergarments of suitable quality for someone of middle rank yet without risking a breach of security? HAL Fisher’s New College rooms had been left untouched since his death where items of the required quality could be removed without raising suspicion. If Grandma had lived long enough to have heard the tale, she would have been even more surprised, that HAL Fisher had married into her grandson’s family. He may only have been a distant cousin of my father, but I can imagine her kvelling with pride and nodding with satisfaction. There is no doubt that she would also have given a huge sigh of relief that HAL had heeded her advice.

Sources: Wikipedia, Ancestry, Commonwealth War Graves Commission