In 1942, two dozen solvers assembled in a Fleet Street room, their task to crack the Telegraph crossword in under 12 minutes. The winner won a cigarette lighter, and maybe a pack of Capstan thrown in. All up, four solvers beat the clock. Next week, each received a mysterious letter.

Confidential, said the envelope. The writer was Colonel Nichols of MI8, the defence wing concerned with decoding. Come join Spy School, went the offer. So it was that crossword wizards joined chess champs, historians, linguists and mathematicians in cracking Nazi codes at Bletchley Park, much as films such as Enigma and The Imitation Game describe.

The crossword clue is poetry to pore over and savour.Credit: iStock

As a crossword addict, I love and lament this story. The love is obvious. Who doesn’t want their hobby ennobled as a war-changing talent? My lament lies in a single question: what’s the rush?

Life is fast enough. From instant coffee to two-minute noodles, we slurp our existence. Online shopping can magic a curling wand onto your porch overnight.........

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