THE EARL OF SUFFOLK AND THE HOLY TRINITY

There were many sides to the amazing personality of Charles Henry George Howard, GC, 20th. Earl of Suffolk. One was a love for science. And it was as a scientist he spent the last months of his life, after a series of amazing adventure in which he plucked from under the noses of the Nazis in France rich treasure and secret papers. He became a bomb disposal expert, and lived his days juggling with death. It was work that called for cold courage and nerves of steel. And when, as is told in this story, his life became forfeit in the hazards of his work, there passed a brave, stout hearted Briton who had, in the full tradition of his ancient house, wrought nobly for his country. Whatever the Earl of Suffolk did, he did in a big way. His schoolboy high jinks set records, and later his elastic spirit defied attempts to confine it. ROUGHING IT At 17, after an orthodox education, he decided to spend the next few years of his life in unorthodox fashion. "I don't see how you can fit yourself to any great position in life unless you have spent a good deal of time roughing it and learning what the other fellow goes through," he declared - and signed up for a voyage round the world before the mast. The voyage over, he went to an Australian farm as an ordinary laborer at the usual wages. "I've got to learn about farming from the bottom up before I can run those estates back at home," He explained. Lord Suffolk spent three years on this sheep farm, and then came home to serve for a while as a subaltern in the Scots Guards. Then he went to Edinburgh University to study chemistry, with the object of practicing scientific farming on an intensive scale. SAVED THE RECORDS In 1934, at the age of 28, Suffolk married actress-dancer Mimi Crawford, daughter of Mr. Alfred Pigott, for many years stage-manager of the Alhambra; four years later he took his degree as Bachelor of Science. When war broke out he became liaison officer between the Ministry of Supply and British and French scientific organizations. He was in France when the collapse came. He came home from Bordeaux in a small cargo vessel carrying valuable scientific records that he had salvaged from under the nose of the Germans. One day soon after his dramatic return from France, in the summer of 1940, he called at the Ministry of Supply and volunteered for bomb research. He organized an experimental group and announced that he would devote himself to working out safe methods for handling unexploded bombs. His scientific training, which had gained him honors at Edinburgh University, came in handy, and in addition he had a natural mechanical bent for devising highly original but effective methods of procedure. He became Chief Field Research and Experimental Officer of the Directorate of Scientific Research, Ministry of Supply.

A scientist who visited him at an office he opened for his new job commented afterwards in tones of dazed wonderment: "I found the Earl of Suffolk dressed in a most extraordinary outfit consisting of riding boots, corduroy trousers, a striped sweater, and a white aviation helmet. He was pacing up and down and raging in a frightful manner at the War Office for not giving him more bombs to play with." Later, when he had built up his own organization, Suffolk no longer depended on the War Office for bombs and could more or less select types to fit his mood on any particular day. BOMB VAN His first necessity as a bomb expert was to make himself mobile since going to bombs involved less danger to others than having bombs brought to him. So he fitted out a large van and equipped it with delicate instruments. His organization included Ms. Eileen Beryl Morden, his 28-year-old secretary, and Mr. Frederick William Hards, a clever craftsman and was also the van driver. The three of them were later to be dubbed "the Holy Trinity." Once he began his new work bombs became an obsession to Suffolk, and the development of a new type was an event that threw him into a fever of excitement. Working with polished death afforded the excitement he craved, the challenge of the unknown. He carried bomb fuzes in his pockets, and on one occasion practically petrified two generals by beginning to tinker with one in a hotel lounge. Observing their horrified expressions, he reassured them, saying, "Don't worry, it isn't dangerous unless you happen to turn one of these little gadgets. I'm just trying to find out which one." STEEL NERVE His methods of working on bombs were simple and direct. "You can't play puss-puss with a bomb," he often used to say. "You've got to be tough with it, otherwise the devil will trick you." Inclined at first to regard him as a thrill-seeking dilettante, the scientists with whom he worked soon recognized him as one of the best among them. He possessed the rare combination of steel nerves and a scientific mind. Soffolk's procedure was a ritual that never varied. First, he fitted a cigarette into one of his two holders and lit it. Then he examined the bomb from all sides and angles, tapped it, listened to it, and "talked" to it. There is little doubt that he regarded each bomb as a tricky personal adversary against whom he was matching skill and courage. The first, or sizing-up, round completed, Suffolk dictated to his secretary his plan for tackling the bomb; this as a precaution, so that, if he failed, others would know at least what not to do. Then he removed his long cigarette holder from his mouth and its twin from his vest pocket and handed them to the nearest member of his party, saying, "Hold these a minute, they might get broken." That was a signal for the group to move back to a safe distance. The secretary carried her notes out of blast range, for whatever happened, they must be preserved. COLOSSAL

An actor who chanced upon Suffolk during one of these operations has described him as follows: "He was tinkering with the nose of a simply colossal bomb and filling the air with a barrage of comment that it was an inspiration to listen to. Every few minutes he would carry a piece of the bomb to the van some distance away and hand it to one of his companions. Then he would rush back, shouting instructions to this secretary over his shoulder as he went. After a long spell of this, Suffolk came slowly towards us carrying a small bit of mechanism from the bomb. He seemed utterly exhausted and his face was wet with perspiration. But he had beaten another tough bomb." Suffolk found endless fascination in the underground bomb storage vaults and could be found at all hours of the day and night browsing around in them, slapping the shiny noses of lethal messengers and stopping to examine an occasional one that attracted him. The division of 24 hours into day and night meant nothing to him, and the only timepiece that interested him was the clockwork in a bomb fuze. HIS 'TRICKS' Despite his flamboyant manner, however, Suffolk was not reckless. He accepted the fact, as did everyone engaged in bomb research, that it was a decidedly ticklish job, but he reduced the peril to a minimum by taking every known precaution to protect himself and his assistants. Sometimes a "trick" failed. How he survived some of these failures, members of the Directorate of Scientific Research were never able to explain. He would appear, and report calmly that a bomb had gone off during an experiment, but it was impossible to pry a single word out of him on how he had managed to escape being blown to tatters. "Jack had a kind of sixth sense, as far as bombs were concerned," a scientist who worked with him used to say, "And he was seldom wrong." He was fond of the members of his organization, and never tired of relating their exploits. They, in turn, basked in the glow of his affection. The successful completion of a task was reason for celebration, and Suffolk would celebrate with the same intensity that characterized his work. Loading his group into the van, sometimes with a bomb or two, he headed for a West End restaurant, just off Picadilly circus, where he was a regular guest and a table was always reserved for him. The time of day didn't matter, nor did clothes. Sitting at the head of the table and beating fierce syncopation with his two long cigarette holders while the pianist played his signature tune, a lively student song. Suffolk was in a world of his own choosing. His standard meal was chicken chasseur with rice and asparagus tips, but he insisted on ordering all the delicacies on the menu for the members of his party. The headwaiter stripped his cellar of his best vintages for Suffolk and his friends. While the party progressed, pieces of bomb mechanism were often passed around the table. Once the restaurant guests were all invited outside to admire a large new bomb lying in the back of the van. Women trembled with fright when they saw it until Suffolk reassured them by explaining that the bomb was harmless as vital parts of the fuze had been removed and were at that moment safely in his

pocket. "Isn't it a beauty?" he asked repeatedly as he pointed out its fine points to nervous restaurant patrons. Most of them obviously didn't think so. FLYING HELMET In amusing himself he was the complete extrovert, intent on getting for himself and his friends the last second of enjoyment out of every hour. His clothes became flamboyant to the point of eccentricity. When he was not in his working togs, which consisted of corduroy riding breeches and boots, a tweed hunting jacket and fleece lined aviator's helmet. He favored loud-checked trousers, waistcoats of yellow, red and green, gay scarves instead of neckties, and a broad-brimmed black artist's hat that he wore turned up on one side. With his long side-burns and moustache he looked like an old time Mississippi River dandy. He lived in a small room at a club just off Piccadilly and turned his great mansion and estate at Charlton Park into a hospital and convalescent home for soldiers. When the big raids on London were in progress, he often walked the streets fascinated by the ear-splitting roar of aerial warfare. After an all-night raid he would appear the next morning clear-eyed and refreshed, and jeer at research workers at the Ministry who could scarcely keep their eyes open. "There's nothing so frightful as a quiet night," he used to remark when others were praying for a chance to get some sleep. His associates gradually narrowed down to his bomb research companions and a few kindred spirits who could chat with him over a drink in a Soho restaurant after everyone else had taken to the shelters and bomb blasts were shaking plaster down on the table. CHAUFFEUR WITH TEA One day when he and his squad were on their way to a bomb across fields and ditches, Suffolk turned to his men and asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?" "You bet," they jeered. Suffolk coolly produced the two revolvers, which he always carried, and fired a couple of shots into the air. Five minutes later a large Bentley came over the hilltop; out of it stepped a chauffeur bearing vacuum flasks of steaming tea and cups. The men were never surprised at anything after that. 'A REBEL' He stoutly maintained that he was no Communist and regularly paid his dues at the Conservative Club. But neither was he a Conservative. "Jack was a rebel against everything in his own past and against everything the society he was born into stood for," a life-long friend once said. "He was the greatest Socialist that has ever existed, though nothing ever made him madder than being told so. He wanted to share everything he had, and always gravitated toward the groups he could do most for." Suffolk's end came in May 1941. His organization had been working hard and he had planned to surprise them all by taking them to his 10,000-acre estate at Charlton Park for a fortnight's rest. Tables had also been booked for a final prevacation party at his favorite restaurant.

CLEANING UP They spent their last working afternoon cleaning up some odds and ends. One of the odds was a 250-kg SC bomb. Suffolk decided to dismantle it. No one paid any attention, neither his party nor several soldiers working nearby. Windows a quarter of a mile away were shattered and people in the adjoining town felt the ground shock. Ms. Eileen Beryl Morden died instantaneously. Mr. Fred Hards dragged himself a few yards and died calling for Suffolk. Others casualties were ascertained only by counting the living. In the crater scooped out by the explosion rescue workers found the remains of the Earl of Suffolk. They were placed in a wooden casket and buried in the old chapel yard at Charlton Park, the Suffolk ancestral home. Weeks later the London Gazette contained the brief notice that the King "has been graciously pleased to award the George Cross to Charles Henry George Howard, Earl of Suffolk and Berkshire (deceased), for conspicuous bravery." Thus, at the age of thirty-five, did "Wild Jack" Howard, twentieth Earl of Suffolk and thirteenth Earl of Berkshire, join the eternal fellowship of the illustrious House of Howard. To its escutcheon he had added the highest honor England can pay her civilian heroes. Lord Suffolk was one of the most extraordinary young men of his day. The George Cross, which has been awarded posthumously to him, is a fitting footnote to his career. He was only eleven when he became twentieth Earl of Suffolk and Berkshire twenty-four years ago. His father was killed on service in Mesopotamia. The boy then became head of one of the oldest families in England, owner of Charlton Park, Malmesbury, one of the largest estates in England. Note: Information for this article received from Mr. Robert Hurst of Parkstone, Poole, Dorset, England.