LETTERS Spooked
Sir: The spook seems to have spooked him- self. David Shayler's story of racing about Europe pursued by his own private fiends and demons (`Life after MI5', 28 March) makes for amusing reading, and it seems a pity to point out that these hideous pur- suers are just men from the British Security Service who want to point out to him that he has signed a document in which he pledged not to talk about his employment in the Service. More seriously, he has given his word of honour not to speak or write about it, and he has broken his word.
A few weeks ago I was reminiscing with an elderly lady who gave up her job of being my nanny and took up the much more exciting and important work of ser- vice in the RAF Police Unit, stationed in London, during the war. I asked her what duties she had there. 'Oh, that would be telling,' she said. Fifty years after the war, there could be no threat to national securi- ty from anything she knew, but that was not the point. She had given her word. She will go to her grave with those secrets, and with her honour unmarked.
She is honourable, and Shayler is a shit.
John Mustoe
Blackthorn Cottage, 20 Cross End, Thurleigh, Bedfordshire
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