← The Spy Who
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Wondery plus subscribers can binge full seasons of the Spy who early and ad free on Apple podcasts or the Wondery app. June 1940. The far north of Norway. In a remote wood cabin deep within a dense conifer forest, King Haakon VII listens as one of his ministers urges him to flee. Your Majesty, Hitler wants you captured. Dead or alive. You cannot remain in Norway. There's no hope of repelling the German invasion. Please leave with the British. The 67 year old King's handlebar mustache twitches slightly. He's been on the run from the Nazis for almost two months. But the thought of leaving Norway horrifies him. You asked me to abandon our nation. The liberty and independence of the Norwegian people are my duty. To leave is to fail in that duty. No, your Majesty, I beg you to leave so you can continue the fight. How? How can I continue to fight if I abandon the country in its hour of need? Sir, from the safety of Britain, the people can still take comfort and strength from your radio broadcasts. Your words can keep hope alive. The King nods in understanding. He rises from his seat. Very well. May God bless. Nor. A few hours later, the King stands on the deck of a British Royal Navy cruiser bound for Scotland. As the Norwegian mountains disappear over the horizon, he dabs the tears from his eyes. Two and a half years later, November 1942. The North Sea, just east of the Shetland Islands. Torpedo operates. Director Mons Kluben smiles as ocean spray and cold wind blasts his face. He's 23, fair haired and about to go behind enemy lines. Before the war, he was a fisherman. Now he's in the Norwegian Navy and one of 22 sailors, commandos and spies heading to Nazi occupied Norway for a secret reconnaissance mission. To get there, they're using a new kind of British Royal Navy motor torpedo boat. The British call them the Spitfires of the sea. They're fast, narrow and armed to the teeth of the gun turret and torpedo launchers on each side. And they're designed for covert operations and hit and run attacks. The crew's mission is to slip through the maze of islands and inlets of southwest Norway undetected. Then they must gather intelligence on how to sabotage a mine that's producing pyrite for making ammunition. Kluben leans out into the wind and cries out with glee, Norway, here we come. But then he spots the Scottish commandos further up the deck. They report to a man called Ian Fleming in British Naval Intelligence, and their stony faces remind him this secret mission isn't a game. The war's not going well, for the Allies, most of Europe is in the grip of fascists. The Soviet Union's battling for its survival. Japan is rampaging across East Asia. Kluben fears this year will deliver another bleak Christmas. But he's determined to return from his mission to Norway with something to cheer his exiled king.
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Mom and dad, mom and mom, dad and dad. Whatever. Parents. Are you about to spend five hours in the car with your beloved kids this holiday season? Driving to old granny's house, I'm setting the scene. I'm picturing screaming, fighting back to back hours of the K Pop pop Demon Hunter soundtrack on repeat. Well, when your ears start to bleed, I have the perfect thing to keep you from rolling out of that moving vehicle. Something for the whole family. He's filled with laughs. He's filled with rage. The OG Green Grump. Give it up for me, James Austin Johnson as the Grinch. And like any insufferable influencer these days, I'm bringing my crew of lesser talented friends along for the ride. With a list guests like Gronk, Mark Hamill and the Jonas Brothers, whoever they are. There's a little bit of something for everyone. Listen to Tis the Grinch Holiday podcast, wherever you get your podcasts.
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From Wandery. I'm Raza Jaffrey and this is the spy who every year, Norway gives the British people a Christmas tree to display in London's Trafalgar Square. And in this special festive episode, we reveal how a covert mission to Norway, a HomeSick King and 007 creator Ian Fleming conspired to instigate this long standing tradition. What you're about to hear are dramatized reconstructions of events based on the information that's been made public. But remember, in the shadowy realm of the spy, the full story is rarely clear. This is the spy who gave London its Christmas tree. November 27, 1942, Southwest Norway. Under the COVID of darkness, the motor torpedo boat moves quietly towards a remote cove on the island of Burmlo. On the deck, torpedo man Mons Clubin checks the surrounding hilltop to make sure no one's watching. But the falling snow makes it hard to be sure. It's 15 hours since they left Shetland. Now, after navigating the Norwegian coast's labyrinth of inlets and rocky islands, they found a suitable hiding place. At the helm, the crew's commander, Lieutenant Knut Bergerbag, signals for the engines to be cut. A few seconds later, the boat gently nudges against the white gray rock of the shore. Clubin and the other crew members move swiftly. They lash ropes tie knots and lower the anchor to moor the boat. Next, they carry provisions and equipment ashore. Two of the Scottish commandos on the boat grab flashlights and head inland. Their priority is to establish a lookout post on high ground from where they can watch for German patrols. As the commandos disappear into the murk of the nighttime snowstorm, Clubin helps pull a large sheet of tarpaulin over the boat to camouflage it from passing planes and boats. Tarpaulin in place, Kluben takes a moment to savor his return to home soil. He looks down the inlet and towards the nearby island of Hisoya. Unlike the other islands here, Hisoya's covered with a forest of noble fir trees, and with its fresh dusting of snow, it looks magical in the moonlight. But Clubens thoughts are interrupted by Lt. Burgerbag calling his name. Kurben, come here. Lubin hurries to where the lieutenant is hunched over a map with a man he knows only as Harry. No one's quite sure what his role in this mission is. Some of the sailors think he's a British spy. Harry falls silent as soon as Clubin approaches and leaves the lieutenant to do the talking. Clubin, you know this area well, yes? Yes, Lieutenant. I'm from Uragsville, a few miles south of here, and I fished these waters before the war. Perfect. We need to reach this mine near Saagwok. This channel is the only route there, but given what you've seen of the German patrols, how likely do you think it is that we can reach it unseen? The channel's wide enough to be able to give other vessels a wide berth. There's also plenty of small islands and inlets we can use for cover, but this place is a problem. Cluben points to a small coastal village. On the map, the village is called Roberstarnesse, and it sits roughly halfway between their position and the mine. There's an engine factory there, so lots of boats go there. An engine factory? I imagine the Germans will be making use of that. Maybe we should attack it on the way back. The following morning, two hours before dawn, in the torpedo boat, Lieutenant Burgerbag answers the buzzing phone. It's connected by a cable to the hilltop lookout post. Yes, there's a mailboat heading your way. Lieutenant hangs up. There's no reason for a mailboat to come here. There are no settlements or houses near this inlet. Man incoming boat. Be prepared. As the crew prepare to defend their position, the lieutenant hurries to the bow. Soon after, the mailboat comes into view. It's a small fishing boat with a cabin on the deck. On seeing the crew with their guns at the ready, the mailboat skipper emerges from behind his steering wheel and puts his hands up. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. Your Norwegian navy? Yes. I can tell from your uniforms. I am Norwegian, too. What do you want? Nothing. I'm just a mailman. I saw your boat and thought you might be stuck or in need of help. The lieutenant signals for his men to lower their guns. I see. Sorry for the unfriendly welcome. We have to be careful. Please come aboard. The mailboat skipper spends the next 20 minutes sharing everything he knows about German patrols and defenses in the area. The lieutenant explains that they need to reach Sagvurk undetected. That will be hard. Especially if you want a close look. Your boat will stand out. Not many fishing boats have torpedo tubes. The lieutenant paces the deck, absorbing the bad news. Then he glances at the mailboat and notices it has a large ice box and it's big enough to fit a couple of men inside. Are you carrying any further fish in your ice box? Well, no. It's empty. Why would you be willing to transport two of my men to Sagvok? They could dress as civilians and hide inside the icebox. So as not to attract attention. The malboat skipper nods. Yes, I will do that. I'd also like them to take a look at the engine workshop on Rubenstar Nesse. Would that be possible as well? It's on my route, so yes. Thank you. But I must warn you that if the Germans catch you with my men, they might kill you. The Melbourne skipper looks unmoved. I know this. I am the one still living here. I'm not afraid. A few minutes later, the mailboat heads out of the inlet with two commandos stowed in its icebox. It's a few hours later and on board, the motor torpedo boat Cluben and some of the other Norwegian crew members are shielding from the snowstorm outside. And their return to their homeland has made them all nostalgic for Christmases of old. The crew's cook leans back in his chair. All I want for Christmas is to eat some Lutevisk. It's not Christmas without Lutevisk. Kluben nods along. He too misses traditional Norwegian Christmas dinners with their lye, cured dried whitefish and potatoes washed down with aquavit. I miss having a tree. Christmas is so sad without a proper tree. Like those on isoia. One of the sailors sits up. We should get one. What do you mean? We're not doing anything here, are we? Let's ask for permission to go to the island to get a tree and bring it back. It could go in the mess hall. It'd cheer everyone up. But we can't use an axe to chop it down. It'll be too noisy. If there are Germans there, they'd hear us using it. The cook stands up. I have a meat store. We could use that. But we have to get two trees. Two trees? Why? One for the mess hall, another for the King. The King keeps all of our spirits up, but who is keeping up his spirits? Wouldn't a Christmas tree from Norwegian soil be the perfect way to thank him? Just then, lieutenant Burgerbag steps onto the boat. Clubin stands. Lieutenant, we have a request. What is it? We wish to row over to the island of Hisoya to get two Christmas trees to take back with us. One for the mess hall on Shetland and another as a gift to His Majesty King Haakon. Do we have your permission, sir? That is an excellent idea. You have my permission. Just make it quick and be careful. Keep an eye out for German patrols. Delighted, the crew gather their gear and the cook's meat saw, ready to go get their Christmas trees. 45 minutes later, Kluben kneels in the deep snow. Sweat drips from his brow as he uses the chef's meat saw to cut through the bark and wood of a small fir tree. Nearby, another Norwegian sailor readies a cigarette while keeping watch. We still need a tree for the King. That one's only fit for the mess. I've not seen a better one yet. Kluben pauses and wipes the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his thick wool jumper. The two men freeze as they hear a twig crack somewhere in the forest. Kluben and the other sailor exchange glances. They're thinking the same thing. Germans. Kluben's colleague stashes his unlit cigarette behind his ear and reaches for his pistol. Sagvog, Norway around the same time as the team are cutting down the Christmas tree on a forested and snowy hilltop, the two commandos who went with the mailboat drain their binoculars on the defenses at the Pyrite mine. I'm glad to be out of that icebox. You always that windy? Concentrate on the mission. I count 18 guards. Oh, actually it's 19. And an officer. Still, the surprise attack with enough force should do it, but we'll need to disable those cannons quick. The decoy attack further along the coast at Lyavik should draw some of these guards away. That'll make it easier to deal with the cannons. You see Anything else? No, I think that's all we need. Let's get back before anyone starts asking why the mailman's running late. The commandos grab their packs and head back down the hill towards the mailboat. They've got the intelligence the crew came for. They just need to check on the engine factory in Rubasta Nessa and then they'll be returning. Returning to base and all without the Germans even knowing they were ever there. Back at Burmlo, torpedo man Mons Kluven marches ashore with a four foot tall Christmas tree slung over his shoulder. Behind him, the sailors who went with him to Hisoye drag their dinghy towards cover. As Cluben heads upshore, his commander, Lieutenant Bugabag, emerges from behind a nearby rock. Ah, Cluben, Any trouble? No sir. We thought we heard something in the forest, but it turned out to be nothing. Burgerbag nods, then peers at the Christmas tree. I hope the others tree is better than this one. We can't present the King with such a sorry specimen. This is the only tree we have, sir, and it was the best we found. Well, it's not good enough. The commanders who went with the mailboat aren't back yet, so there's still time. Get back in that dinghy and find a tree fit for a king. I'll take this one from here. With that, the lieutenant heaves the tree over his shoulder and marches towards the boat. Clubin sighs and heads over to where the other men are taking the dinghy. The lieutenant said our tree isn't good enough. We have to go back and find a better one. One of the sailors smirks. He sounds like my father every Christmas. Always chasing the perfect tree. Klubens about to laugh when the sailor holds up a hand club and the others fall silent. And they hear it. There's a motorboat approaching. The sailors grab the dinghy and quickly drag it out of sight. A few moments later they see a German patrol boat buzz past. That was too close. Yes, let's hurry. If we're going to get this tree, we need to reach the island before that patrol boat circles back around. Two hours later, Lt. Burgerbag raises his binoculars to his eyes and scans the shore of his soya. But there's still no sign of Clubin and the other men. He passes the binoculars to one of the icebox commandos. They've just returned from checking out the Pyrite mine and that means they should be heading back to Shetland soon. Still no sign of them. We need to consider the possibility they've been captured. If they have, we can't wait around. We have the intelligence we came for. The mission comes first. I'm not abandoning them. Not yet at least. I'm the one who sent them back. We can give them time. The commando hands back the binoculars. Fine. We also need to talk about Rubberstanesse. We scouted it out like you asked. Kluben was right. There is an engine factory there. It's guarded but vulnerable. We could go in fast, torpedo it and be gone. But if we're seen coming in, it'd be high risk. Understood. In that case, let's try and take it out. But we abort the mission at the first sign of trouble. Much as I'd like to see some action, getting the intelligence about the mine back to Shetland takes priority. Decision made. The lieutenant raises the binoculars once more. Yet he sees nothing but snow, rocks and fir trees. But then he sees something strange. There's a tree with no snow on it. It. And it's moving towards the shore. A smile breaks on the lieutenant's face. Cloban and the others have found a tree fit for a king. It's a few hours later and the motor torpedo boat is on the move. The two small Christmas trees are stowed safely below deck. Now the crew are speeding towards the village of Rubistonesse to take out its engine factory. As the boat cuts through the water, Lubin's heart races. It's down to him to fire the torpedoes and make sure they hit the factory. But then the sailor keeping watch, the German patrols shouts, enemy sighted. Cut engines. Lt. Burgerbag raises his binoculars as the boat's engines stop. Kluben peers at the murky gray horizon. The ongoing snowstorm makes it hard to see. But there's a speck moving in the distance. Everyone on board looks at the lieutenant, waiting for orders. After a moment, he lowers his binoculars, restart engines and turn around. The attack is off. We return to Shetland now and at speed. Gunners, keep that patrol boat in your sights. If they give chase, I want them sunk fast. Kluben, ready the torpedoes. We may need them if they radio for support. Yes, sir. The engines restart and the boat begins to turn around. Kluben hurries to load the torpedo tubes. As he does, he steals a quick glance toward the German patrol boat. It's changed course too, and it's headed their way. The Admiralty London. In an office overlooking Trafalgar Square, Admiral Norman Denning leans forward and lets Ian Fleming light his cigarette. Then he leans back in his chair. Denning is the head of British Naval Intelligence and Fleming's Boss, I have good news. Commander Fleming. Our reconnaissance operation in Norway the other week went almost without a hitch. FLEMING ARCHES AN EYEBROW Almost. Apparently they had quite an adventure. They hoped to take out a boat engine factory before returning. Give the Jerry's a kick in the balls on the way out, so to speak. Unfortunately, a German patrol boat spotted them, so they had to hightail it out of the area. Thankfully, our new boats were too good for them and they were able to make a quick getaway with a little help from the murky weather. Glad to hear it. So they collected the intelligence we needed to sabotage the mine in Saagvork? Yes. Three of the Norwegians involved are on their way to London as we speak. We can get a full briefing then, but I believe they gathered all the information we need to go ahead with Operation Khartoum. FLEMING SMILES. Operation Khartun is the mission to destroy the mine in Sagvawk. The plan is to send a joint British Norwegian force in the New Year. But the news that some of those involved in the mission to Norway are coming to London has also caught his attention. Fleming's work is mainly to direct operations from afar. But he always thrills at the tales of bravery he hears from those he sends into the field. So he's not going to miss hearing the stories from the men who've just carried out an operation behind enemy lines. You said some of the men are coming here? Yes, they're due to arrive tomorrow. Our agents, of course, plus the boat's second in command and a torpedo man called Montz. We should mark their success somehow. Dinner at the Savoy seems appropriate. Yes, good idea, Fleming. A proper slap up meal for a job well done. Well, I know the maitre d. I'm sure I could get him to fix us something special. In fact, I have two brace of pheasants from hunting over the weekend. I'm sure the Savoy might make something special with them. Wonderful. I will of course join you. Also, you need to invite Eric Welsh too. Welsh? He's Secret Intelligence Service. He heads up their new Norwegian branch. He's very keen to learn what he can about the situation there. The more the merrier. Need the reservation to me. A couple of hours later, the Savoy Hotel, London. Ian Fleming slips into the kitchen carrying a gunny sack. Inside, the hotel's chefs are busy getting ready for the dinner service. Fleming sees the maitre d chatting with another hotel employee and makes his way past the chefs towards him. Excuse me, awfully sorry. The Major D notices Fleming heading towards him. Ah, Commander Fleming. Pleasure to See you. As always. But I'm afraid this area is for staff only. I'm aware, but I need a reservation for tomorrow. Well, you could just book like anyone else. Yes, but I have a special request. And a gift. A gift? Fleming opens his sack to reveal four pheasants. One's yours if you make good use of the other. For our party of six. The maitre d smiles. What? Time rationing means meat is in short supply. In that case, consider your special reservation arranged. Late the following evening, Ian Fleming staggers out of the Savoy, closely followed by Norwegian torpedo man Mons cluben. Admiral Denning, MI6 officer Eric Welsh and two other Norwegian sailors follow just behind. They've spent the past few hours drinking fine wine and dining on pheasant. Now their heads are woozy and their bellies bloated. Fleming saunters up to the army jeep the Norwegians are using. With his hands in his trouser pockets, he peers at the two Christmas trees in the back of the vehicle. I thought you said one of the trees was put in the mess hall. And Shetland. And the other one is going to the king. But they're both here. Cluben looks offended and points at the smallest of the tree. You think I would cut down a tree? As sorry as that one. It's more shrub than tree. No, my first tree is in the mess hall. Believe it or not, another Norwegian boat on a completely separate mission had the exact same idea. And this was their so called tree. Yeah, not even fit for a mess hall, let alone a king. Exactly. We're not sure what to do with it. It seems wrong just to turn it into firewood when it's come all the way from Norway. Fleming looks at the tree for a moment and then down the street towards Trafalgar Square. I have an idea. A few minutes later, Flurbin and Fleming and the other merry men are in Trafalgar Square. As they watch, Admiral Denning uses some rope to tie the tree to some railings. See, I still know how to tie a bowline rope. Work done. The Admiral steps back and the six men stand and stare at the small Christmas tree. MI6 officer Eric Welsh sighs, Shame we have no fairy lights. Clubin nods and then has an idea. He rushes over to the jeep, rummages through a rucksack and pulls out two flares. We don't have fairy lights, but we do have flares. The man cheer. But then Kluben pulls something else out of the rucksack. A hip flask and aquavit. Oh yes. Fleming attaches the flares to the railings and lights them. As red and green lights and smoke illuminate the Christmas tree and Trafalgar Square, the men gather in a semicircle. Cluben takes a swig of aquabit and raises it in a toast. Merry Christmas to all. He passes the flask to Welsh, who takes a heavy swig. One of the other Norwegian sailors looks aghast. No, no, no. This is Norwegian aquavit, not Swedish. It's for sipping. Fleming takes the flask, sniffs it, and then takes a sip. Not too bad, but Danish aquavit is superior. What? Now you are talking utter nonsense. Fleming, stop winding up our guests. But it's true. Danish is definitely superior. Philistine. Personally, I can't taste much difference. Now. Admiral, it is you who is talking nonsense. Not true. Definitely. The Swedish Norwegian aquabit. And as the traditional Christmas argument fills the air, passers by stop and smile at the Norwegian tree, lit with flares and surrounded by the spies and sailors who've just planted the seeds of a new festive tradition. The next day, Berkshire, England, in his temporary residence, King Haakon VII is at his desk working on his Christmas radio address to the people of Norway when his butler enters the room. Your Majesty, there is a visitor for you. An officer from the Norwegian Navy who has just returned from a mission to Norway. He is waiting in the hallway. The King stiffly rises from his chair, eager to hear news about home. But on entering the hallway, he's surprised to find not just a smiling sailor, but a beautiful Christmas tree. The sailor bows his head. Your Majesty, this tree is from Isoja. We cut it down during our mission there a few days ago as a gift for you. It is a thank you from us, the people of Norway, to you for keeping the hope of a free Norway alive. Merry Christmas, your majesty. The surprised king stares at the fine fur in front of him. Fond memories of home and Christmas's past surge forth, ignited by the woody citrus smell of the tree. And as he remembers those happier days, he smiles and tears well in his eyes. Thank you for this most heartwarming and thoughtful gift. And thank you and your men for their service and their bravery. And a very merry Christmas to you as well. In January 1943, the British and Norwegians used the intelligence gathered during Kluben's mission to successfully sabotage the Pyrite mine near Saagvoork, disrupting the Nazis production of ammunition. In both 1943 and 1944, the Norwegian Navy sailors continued the tradition of returning from motor torpedo boat missions into occupied Norway with a Christmas tree for King Haakon. Norway was finally liberated on May 8, 1945. King Haakon returned home on June 7 that year after exactly five years in exile. In 1947, Norway began to sending the UK a large Christmas tree to place in Trafalgar Square every year as a thank you to the British people for their support during World War II. And these days it's lit with fairy lights instead of flares. The stump of the original Trafalgar Square Christmas tree that Kluben cut the top off has since regrown. It's now known as the Congegrane or the Royal Fur, and remains on the island of Hisuya to this day. In the next season of the Spy who, we revisit the file of Ayman Dean, the spy who betrayed Bin Laden. And we hear from the former Al Qaeda member himself. To understand how he went from teen jihadist to British spy, Wondery plus subscribers can binge full seasons of the Spy who early and ad free on Apple Podcasts or the Wondery app. Have you got a spy story you'd like us to tell? Email your ideas to the spy whoanderey.com from Wondery this is our Christmas special episode, the Spy who Gave London Its Christmas Tree. A quick note about our dialogue we can't know everything that was said or done behind closed doors, particularly far back in history, but our scenes are written using the best available sources, so even if a scene or conversation has been recreated for dramatic effect, it's still based on biographical research. The Spy who is hosted by me, Raza Jaffri. Our show is produced by Visby, with writing and story editing by Yellowant for Wandering for Yellow Ant. This episode was researched by Louise Byrne, with special thanks to Clara Ellefson, Maureen Ergland and Susan Scott. Our managing producer is Jay Priest for Vespucci. Our senior producers are Natalia Rodriguez, Ashley Clivery and Philippa Geering. Our sound designer is Iver Manley. Rachel Byrne is the supervising producer. Music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Fris and Sink. Executive producers for Vespucci are Johnny Galvin and Daniel Turkan. Executive producer for Yellow Ant is Tristan Donovan, our producer for Wondery is Theodora Luludis and our managing producer is Rachel Sibley. Executive producers for Wondery are Estelle Doyle, Chris Bourne, Morgan Jones and Marshall Louie.