A Day in Milton Keynes (2)

The second part of my day in Milton Keynes is about a visit to the Bletchley Park. For the first part of the day-out, please refer to this post.

I was bored. The Film Museum didn’t allow any photography except destined selfie spots. I planned to visit the MK Gallery, but only disappointingly to find that nothing in there interested me. I was sitting in front of the commercial complex, surrounded by tawdry chain stores that I couldn’t care less. I had already rated Milton Keynes the most mediocre and banal town. But I couldn’t just hop on any coach back because my tickets were assigned at specific time and changing time cost extra money. I’m not going to waste a penny on top of a terrible visit.

It was my MA (Museum Association) free entry list that saved the rest of the day. I flipped out my phone and googled the list, and there was a place in Milton Keynes that granted MA member free entry. Bletchley Park was only 30 minutes away from the tasteless town centre.

Getting off the bus I doubted I was once again thrown in the middle of nowhere. I hadn’t had this kind of feeling ever since I left the Balkans. There was literally just bleak and miserable-looking buildings that nobody care a bit more. I dragged myself and walked for about 20 minutes before I finally saw a gate. The sign did say Bletchley Park.

I had not known what to expect. Google map said it was a Victorian house, so I thought I was visiting a historical place. The guide at the gate asked if I was for the house or the computer center, and I was baffled: What computer?

I started learning the incredible story of how Bletchley Park became the hub of British intelligence during WWII. If not thousands, hundreds of men and women, along with the best of the best minds in the nation, huddling with their heads low, working day and night just to break the code from the German military. That was the time when computers started receiving more attention, because eventually they decrypted much faster than any human being ever. But before any computer could work, it was human. The British Intelligence hired people from all walks of life, because any experience could have been the key (literally). It was a race, between time and power, and a game that cost hugely but invisibly.

After the entrance, visitors usually followed the route to watch a film first. It briefed us why Bletchley Park was important for a history untold until now.

Inside the film projection room, I noticed that the space was designed to resemble a mix of drafting office and a post office.

Several posters and document during the war time. As I wrote these words, I have already been to some other war-related museums and memorial places, and I became more familiar with these slogans.

These three photos are from the upper right. (L) Air raid shelter ticket. (M) Anti gas ointment. (R) Identity card.

“Action on this day” A note written by W. Churchill. The crossword board on the right, actually, is called Rasterschlüssel 44, was left by German troop. It was a tool to create and read encrypted messages.

(L) Enigma working aid. (R) Codebreaker’s working papers.

Lots of people enjoy solving riddles; more people love to play crosswords on New York Times. Wordle has been popular even with young people. But cracking codes also had a heavy weight. For the codebreakers who worked at that time, their jobs were kept secret, and there would always be lives depending on whether they cracked the puzzle or not.

The original house of Bletchley Park is behind the visitor centre. There are several blocks of gray, uniformed-looking houses scattering across the land, and I learned that they were purposed-built offices for the codebreakers.

(L) Block B (R) Block A. All were constructed offices.

There was a pond in front of the house.

Perhaps it was because of Covid, the first floor was sealed from visitors. There were many people cramping on the ground floor.

The living room. On the wall there were some stories about history of this house and its former owners. I felt weird to read these words and imagined life before Bletchley Park was transformed into an intelligence hub. Those owners, had they known, what would they say?

Through a door, there was a room that recounted chronologically the transformation of Bletchley Park, from a humble Victorian mansion to the secret place for national service. What impressed me most about the display of history was the extensive use of props, and the many interactive labels hidden within them.

The many boxes, suitcases, piles of files lumped around a working desk. They created an atmosphere for the visitors, providing an idea of what it looked like to be either a professor or an officer from the intelligence.

Interactive labels: Besides the green boards on the wall, there are printed plastic boards in disguise of clipboard and files. Visitors are encouraged to pull and read, guessing what might be the decision back then.

The two original ball rooms were transformed into offices, allowing more codebreakers to work.

The library. This was where the early codebreakers worked. It was chaotic because everything was messy, and the space was limited. Some more unfortunate people had to make-do on poor substitute, like a kitchen counter or even boxes.

The library.

Commander Denniston’s office. As head of GC&CS, he was the person who recruited a lot of “men of professor type” from universities, including the mathematician, Alan Turing.

Some past-time entertainment in Commander Denniston’s office.

The plaque of the house.

There are other sites that were either transformed or purpose-built to house more officers and codebreakers, and to provide household facilities. I went to the back of the house, and there was the garage to store war-time vehicles.

These photos show a modern portable intelligence office built in a container, that could be lifted and transported by vehicles. This kind of office is often deported in harsh war zones, like Iraq or Afghanistan.

I did go and visit the underground exhibition room where an array of the Enigma models and the life of Alan Turing were on display. The only problem for me was that there were too many words on the labels. I had never seen such extensive labels in any museum, almost feeling like I was reading a technical manual. The jargons, inevitably, did not help. But beside this flaw, it was a diligent recount of Turing’s dedication.

I had watched The Imitation Game several years ago. The core idea of the movie was to show how Turing, despite being the most brilliant mind of the nation, was tragically accused of homosexuality and was treated horribly and unfairly. I felt like the park could have addressed this issue a bit more, so that the technical aspect could be toned down. If there was any concern and skepticism towards the movie, there is no better place to discuss it than here.

Alan Turing’s office, in Hut 8.

Waving goodbye to Bletchley Park.

I didn’t have time for the National Museum of Computing (it was a bit expensive for me). It had been a day of mixed feelings: Milton Keynes being the upmost disappointment, but the banality of the town was probably persistent, and was the reason being the perfect place for a bunch of secret codebreakers. Although I wasn’t allowed to take photos in the Film Museum, the multiple uses of props in a historical house to illustrate the era were intriguing. I certainly don’t want to come to the town again, but I do like the park very much.