Sowerbutt's Find

A low whistle stopped Spaghetti in his tracks. Unholstering his revolver, he hurried over to the shadowy figure of Panda who was crouching beside a large stain on the floor. He whispered: “Blood, lots of it. Still damp in the middle. This morning, last night; I’m no expert.”

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Sowerbutt's Watch

Outside in the side street, One-Line leant against a wall, his hand on the Webley inside his donkey jacket. In West Ferry Road, Cocker was keeping watch from another warehouse doorway. The main road, busy with lorries and carts in the daylight hours, was deathly quiet; Cocker was expecting an ARP patrol at some stage. Lucky, who was barely 18 and had papers saying he had a heart condition, was admiring an attractive housewife, who was busy knitting, through a chink in her black-out curtains.

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Sowerbutt's Burglary

The delivery yard behind Piper’s warehouse was pitch-black. Despite occasional glimpses of the moon through the clouds, it was hard to see further than your hand in front of your face. The only other light was from the flashes from the Luftwaffe bombs – tonight was the turn of communities further east to suffer, Dagenham, Barking and Ilford.
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Sowerbutt's Jam

Sowerbutt devoured a scone with jam. “Your Blackshirt resistance group?" “We are information-hunters, Jaimie. Enthusiastic idealists with ears everywhere. We call ourselves the Pier Chess Club and meet weekly above a sympathiser’s shop in Pier Avenue. Our records of matches are coded details of troop movements, equipment, manoeuvres and so on. We are waiting to hand them over to the Flieger Division and the advance units."

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Sowerbutt's Clacton

Rosetta smiled. “Your Mr Churchill, he takes his invasion seriously. All non-essential civilians were evacuated from Clacton last year. Most of the hotels and B&Bs are full of officers. They’ve taken over Butlins holiday camp as a barracks. Taking care of the gardens though. What do your soldier boys call it? Fatigues.”

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Sowerbutt's Pier

“Not the old Clacton I knew," Sowerbutt said. "A ghost town with the shades wearing khaki. Soldier boys everywhere and hardly a civilian. The poor pier cut in half to keep Jerry away. The Kingsman family wouldn’t be happy – we’ve done business with them over the years.”

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Sowerbutt's Waiter

As manager of Clacton’s premier hotel, Barry Nigg did not normally wait on tables in the lounge or anywhere else. However, the brigadier from the Prime Minister’s office had impressed upon him the importance of looking after Mrs Smith as the woman had registered her name.
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Sowerbutt's Hats

Blushing, June pushed the sketchbook towards the Marshall & Snelgrove buyer. George clapped his hands. “Look at this. Wide brim with a matching rose, a pill box with a feather bird and this, a topaz turban with a peak. Genius, simply genius. I’ve never seen anything like them. June, dear, you are the designer of your generation.”

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Sowerbutt's Disguise

Spaghetti swung his pickaxe in the four-foot deep trench in one of the side-streets running east from West Ferry Road. Dressed in an old tweed suit, he looked the part of a council worker. 
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Sowerbutt's Tithes

Rupert Manningtree bit into a custard cream. “Tithe Wars? Damn disgrace, old boy. The tithe-owners, mostly civilians who’d bought them out but also a few Anglicans, trying to squeeze blood from a stone. The nonsense started eventually, the bully-boy bailiffs came in with warrants and began throwing their weight around. Do you know they marched into the Bury markets, waved a piece of paper in the air and started loading up their lorries with pigs and cattle. Nearly started a riot, I almost hit one of the bastards but the constables were there."
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Sowerbutt's Prisoners

“A welcome problem, Sire, is where to place the thousands of Italian prisoners. We are capturing hundreds at a time,” Churchill said. “Some are being brought here to fill the gaps on our farms. Most will be sent to the dominions, India and the colonies." 

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Sowerbutt's Praise

“Thank you, Prime Minister. A most succinct report,” King George said to Churchill. “We are most pleased by the attacks on the Admiral Hipper at Brest. The Brylcreem Boys have done well."
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Sowerbutt's Plot

The Brigadier finished his whiskey. “Mr Bracken says this operation, if successful, will change the course of the war. Mr Gerard has to be seen as a genuine Jerry agent who is arranging a coup. Juicy bait who will attract your adversary."
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Sowerbutt's Acquaintance

“In Clacton last year, a young postal worker was jailed for defeatist talk; the magistrate made an example of her. After serving her time, she’s upped roots and is now living in Hammersmith – under surveillance. We’ve set up a notional group there around an old acquaintance of yours, Rosetta, who is posing as the postal worker’s friend," the Brigadier said.

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Sowerbutt's Plan

The Brigadier puffed his corona. “We’ve put groups in areas where Blackshirt activity was common knowledge. However, we’ve created notional or inaccessible contacts. Let me explain. The Norwich group is centred around a man called Eric Pleasants. In fact, the group, who are all my people, are notionally getting over his absence. A well-known Blackshirt, he went to sea to avoid the call-up and stayed on in Jersey of all places. Beyond the reach of any Red checking credentials."

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Sowerbutt's List

The Brigadier spread a sheet of paper on the table. “Another contribution from the Scribe, gentlemen. A list of what we’ve described as active Blackshirt groups across East Anglia and London. In other words, the sort of information you would expect Jerry to know. One of our friends in the Swiss Protecting Power team borrowed a typewriter and paper from the closed-up  Jerry Embassy in Carlton House Terrace."
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Sowerbutt's Adversary

Putting on cotton gloves, the Brigadier slid an oilskin wallet across the table to Gerard. “This is the letter to show the notional Blackshirt groups. We have an inspired writer and the Scribe is better than the original. The wallet is German, taken from a Kreigsmarine officer now in our custody. It is clean of fingerprints, so only yours will be on it, Mr Gerard. Your adversary is a careful man."
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Sowerbutt's Bike

No-one but Sowerbutt witnessed the spectacle of the red-faced Brigadier twisting and turning the heavy ladies’ bike along the ridged farm track, better suited to cloven stock.
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Sowerbutt's Friend

Pop grinned: “Been to see Darby Sabini.” “Whoa,” exclaimed Jack, “That’s one naughty boy. Bad temper by all accounts.” “Down to Brighton?” Bernie said. “That’s where he is these days, isn’t it. That punch-up down at Lewes racecourse a few years back.” “Place called Huyton near Liverpool, trains took forever,” Pop said. “An internment camp. He’s as English as you are, Jack, born at Saffron Hill. Set up by the stoppers with his Eyetie name, but he’s got his fancy lawyer working on it.”

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Sowerbutt's Cargo

“Another thing, Mr Sorbay,” Nero said. “A Mexican ship has tied up in the West India. She ran the crossing by herself, but was untouched. Their flag is the same as the Eyetie one. She is carrying timber and chemicals but her captain – nice bloke called Reybell – has brought some stuff to trade on the side. He was telling me the ship used to be Jerry but the Mexicans took it over. Funny name, Oaxaca. Pineapples, dried fruit, sacks of soy flour and he’s got tins of beef from some Yank company. They’ve got a big factory in Mexico land.”

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Sowerbutt's Progress

Sipping his beef broth, Harry Hopkins said: “I have witnessed the tide turn in North Africa, Winston, with the fall of Tobruk to your brave men. Mussolini, the prize fool, is a worried man, running off to Berchtesgaden for orders. The progress in East Africa will also give comfort to the millions around the world who believe in freedom."
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Sowerbutt's Devil

The Brigadier sipped his whiskey. “Nasty piece of work, Vershinin. Blood on his hands. When we have used him for our own ends, we could leave him be – better the devil you know. Or shoot him, motor car accident, that sort of thing. I’m rather inclined to let him be and have a case against him up our sleeve.”

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Sowerbutt's Hut

In a drafty army hut in Norfolk, Sergeant Sneed was sitting with a blanket over his legs at a walnut inlay desk that he had borrowed from the officers’ mess “for repairs”. Under the provisions of the Emergency Regulations, the hut was off-limits to everyone at the Camp, including the commanding officer.
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Sowerbutt's Haul

“Job well done, lads. Mr Sorbay will be pleased,” Spaghetti said. “Some interesting stuff. Couple of crates of Thompson machine-guns, machine parts, tools, copper wire, bales of rubber, boxes of wireless valves, ball-bearings, medical supplies, couple of boxes of silk underwear and some boots. Two hundred pounds and a few American dollars in Shapiro’s bag.”

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Sowerbutt's Evidence

The only evidence of the raid was a red-faced man, grunting and struggling to get loose from his chair. In their rush to flee, the workers had forgotten, deliberately or otherwise, their unpopular boss.

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Sowerbutt's Threat

"You can’t touch me, I’ve got powerful friends. Official friends.” The slap resounded around the office, Shapiro’s head jerking sideways with the mark of Spaghetti’s hand across his cheek. “You know what your friends can do, granddad. The cash-bag or I’ll cut you.”

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Sowerbutt's Dance

Running into Shapiro’s office, Spaghetti burst out laughing. Amid the swirls of smoke from a grenade, Shapiro, who was the spitting-image of Hercule Poirot from Agatha Christie’s mystery books, was doing a knees-up on his desk as Panda’s bike chain snaked after him. “Fun’s over, rope him and gag him.” 
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Sowerbutt's Fight

Spaghetti leapt down from the back of the Bedford MW lorry as it backed towards the dock inside Shapiro’s warehouse. Racing up the steps to the delivery office, he caught out of the corner of his eye Spano frog-marching a bewildered worker out of the warehouse. A single punch from One-Line floored another man who was swinging a crowbar. 
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Sowerbutt's Hurry

Bracken said. “We haven’t got much time, Sorbay. The sooner the Russkies get hold of the letter, the sooner they’ll entangle themselves with Jerry and the bombers will fly east. The Old Man is very worried about the effect of the Blitz on our war economy – and the British people, of course.”

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Sowerbutt's Bait

Bracken poured himself a flute of champagne. “The Brigadier tells me you have completed your odyssey across East Anglia raising the banner of Blackshirt resistance and you’ve seen Oswald Mosley, our Fuhrer-in-waiting.  Your Jerry friend has established his credentials, he is perfect bait."
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Sowerbutt's Memories

"I remember you at Cable Street, Sorbay, getting stuck into the Reds; the Met was a damned disgrace that day. Simon, the Home Secretary, didn’t know his arse from his elbow.”

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Sowerbutt's Gin

“You are a life-saver, Sorbay," Sir Oswald Mosley said. "As you can imagine Holloway doesn’t approve of alcohol; the women have a still around somewhere making some dreadful stuff. I was offered a bottle of potato gin or some such at a price."
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Sowerbutt's Cash

“What about Shapiro, guv?” Missionary asked. “Tie him up, don’t want him running off to the nearest telephone box. Smack him if you want to. Keep a lookout for his bag – follow his eyes. He keeps cash in it.”

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Sowerbutt's Weapons

“Some of us will carry shooters but only as a last resort. Bullets always attract the stoppers. Coshes, knuckles, knives and your chain, Panda."

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Sowerbutt's Bounty

"Load up as quickly as you can and scarper. The driver stays in the lorry at all times, engine running. High value stuff, you know what to grab."
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Sowerbutt's Blood

Nearby were a trestle table with a dark stain of dried blood on the top and a chair with cut lengths of rope attached to it. Spaghetti sniffed. “Whoever was sitting there pissed himself. Looks like Piper or perhaps Vershinin has been having some fun."
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Sowerbutt's Rats

A sudden rustling had both men crouching, their revolvers drawn. “Rats,” murmured Panda, peering at two fat specimens scurrying along a wall. Spaghetti whispered: “We’ll check out the ground floor and unbolt the side door and slip out if we can pick the lock. They’ll think it’s local lads on the scrounge if they notice.”

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Sowerbutt's Light

The only light was from the occasional flashes where the Luftwaffe bombers dropped their loads – tonight it was the turn of communities further east to suffer, Dagenham, Barking or Ilford.
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Sowerbutt's Clacton

Rosetta smiled. “Your Mr Churchill, he takes his invasion seriously. All non-essential civilians were evacuated from Clacton last year. All sorts of army here – gunners, infantry, pioneers. Most of the hotels and B&Bs have army staying, very few outside visitors these days. They’ve taken over Butlins holiday camp as a barracks."
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Sowerbutt's Silverspoons

“Where did the Blackshirts fit in?” Sowerbutt asked. “The only lot who supported us, old boy. Some of the NFU – that’s the farmers’ union – were helpful, but the rest stayed out of it. Went along to the local Tories and told them they were a disgrace. Bunch of silverspoons with their fine estates."

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Sowerbutt's Riot

 “The nonsense started eventually, the bully-boy bailiffs came in with warrants and began throwing their weight around, seizing goods," Manningtree said. "They marched into the markets at Bury, waved a piece of paper in the air and started loading up their lorries with pigs and cattle. Nearly started a riot, I almost hit one of the bastards myself but the constables were there."

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Sowerbutt's Anger

Manningtree bit into a cream custard. “Tithe Wars? A damn disgrace, old boy. The tithe-owners, mostly civilians who’d bought them out but a few Anglicans, trying to squeeze blood out of a stone. Middle of a depression, corn prices were down 30% and the cost of labour and supplies sky-high. People couldn’t pay, good people." 
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Sowerbutt's Campaign

The profits from Manningtree’s introduction of commercial pig farming kept him in comfort and contributed to the Blackshirts’ campaign during the Tithe Wars in the early 1930s. The Special Branch office in Harwich had three cuttings from the East Anglia Daily Times, recording his support for the British Union of Fascists.
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Sowerbutt's Prisoners

“A welcome problem, Majesty, is where to place the thousands of Italian prisoners. We are capturing hundreds at a time,” Churchill said. “Some are being brought here to fill the gaps on our farms. Most will be sent to the dominions. In years to come when Mussolini is long forgotten, these boys may help us populate the vast reaches of the Empire.”

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Sowerbutt's Sinking

“Thank you, Prime Minister. A most succinct report,” King George said. “We are most pleased by the attacks on the Admiral Hipper at Brest. One less Jerry ship would be welcome. The Brylcreem Boys have done well."
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Sowerbutt's Warning

Bending down to Billy Kidd, Missionary whispered: “Count yourself lucky, sunshine, remember your Captain Kidd was hanged just down the road. Touch the Family’s stuff again and it is a bullet and The River.”

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Sowerbutt's Fun

With drinkers from the Five Bells and Bladebone and nearby pubs spilling out to watch the fun, the fighting was over in minutes; the Kidd brothers lying groaning on the pavement, battered, bruised and bloodied.
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Sowerbutt's Fight

Billy Kidd’s face turned white when he saw Missionary’s Webley revolver pointing at him. He turned to run, shouting at his brother. Two of Missionary’s lads were waiting behind them, coshes in hand. Johnnie Kidd threw a wild punch at Missionary, signalling the start of a short free-for-all.

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Sowerbutt's School

Polly said: “This is a very special school and you are special children. Some of you have lost loved ones but they would want you to do your best, to make something of your lives. You have some great teachers and everybody here is supporting you. One big family.” Punching her fist into the air, she shouted “Poplar Free School is the best.” 

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Sowerbutt's Ruse

Churchill growled. “Your ruses are paying off, Brendan. My golden geese at Bletchley tell me that Jerry troops are on the move from France to Romania. The code on a priorityWehrmacht order to acquire as many horses as possible by whatever means has also been partially broken.” Bracken blew a plume of smoke into the air. “The clock is ticking, Prime Minister. London will survive.”

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Sowerbutt's Propaganda

“These new opinion polls that US newspapers are carrying say most Americans believe we will be invaded in March. That will open the pockets of the Morgans and the Rothschilds. Private loans will cover us,” Brendan Bracken said. Churchill sipped his glass of Hine. “Perhaps so, dear boy. The Cousins are being hoodwinked by your Invasion propaganda. You are doing a splendid job.”

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Sowerbutt's Egg

Polly said: "The repository is a good business. We’re accumulating quite an art collection. You’ll never guess what turned up the other day.” Sowerbutt shrugged his shoulders. “A Faberge egg. Remember the Russian emperor, or whatever he was, had them.”

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Sowerbutt's Shooter

Sowerbutt pushed the barrel of his shooter into McGaskie’s cheek. “Why should I believe a word of your nonsense, McGaskie? You promise this, you promise that. I need information.” His hand connected with McGaskie’s face with a loud smack. 

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Sowerbutt's Tripe

Panda and One-Line were keeping an eye on the day’s activities. Housewives with shopping bags were queuing outside a butcher’s; word had spread like wildfire that he had had an off-ration delivery of dressed tripe.
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Sowerbutt's Supplies

Jack Shakes sipped his coffee. “Ay-yay-yay, where do you get these items from? You are a merchandise magician in these difficult times. I suppose I’d better be nice to you.”

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Sowerbutt's Tailor

The dapper little man with brilliantined hair threw his hands up. “You fancied a coffee. I have two apprentices to chase, orders to do, cloth to buy and deliveries to make. Is my shop a café? Do you see a sign outside, saying Shakes snack bar?” Sowerbutt laughed; he always enjoyed his visits to the tailor’s shop.

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Sowerbutt's Threat

The ex-docker’s eyes narrowed as he pulled a knife from his jacket. “I’ll have you, you dirty bastard. No man paws me. I’ll gut you here and now and dance on your grave.” A deathly hush spread across the bar. 

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Sowerbutt's Fight

Buffalo flung his arm in front of McGaskie as the red-faced bruiser rose from the bar table in the Hospital Tavern. Seconds earlier, McGaskie had kissed his shaved head, spluttering at the taste of surgical spirits. 
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Sowerbutt's Explosives

"A very brave man who is with me now, a Mr Sorbay who alerted my vergers," Dean Matthews said. "My staff and several of his friends are undertaking the search for more explosives. Just a minute, Mr Bracken, here is some more explosive and another of these timer things being brought in by one of my vergers. Whoever would do a thing like this? May God forgive him.”

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Sowerbutt's Timer

"We are searching the Cathedral as best we can and I have what is called a timer that has been made safe and an amount of explosive material on my desk.  I am told it is enough to bring down one of the pillars in the nave where it was discovered," Dean Matthews said.

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Sowerbutt's Rabbits

Percy nodded. “I’ve been thinking, Maud, we should expand. I can turn the old stables into rabbit runs. Each pair has about a dozen offspring a year and we can feed them on kitchen scraps. Plenty of stuff growing on the farm that I can collect – dandelions, plantain. clover, coltsfoot. We’re getting a shilling for each carcass and a couple of pence for the pelts. Once we get going, I could take a couple of suitcases up to the Smoke, they’d sell like hot cakes with the shortages.”

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Sowerbutt's Suits

"It’s another order for our ladies' suits, dear,” Maud said, patting Percy Faith’s arm. “We’ve sold two from the House of Polly shop in Grosvenor Square. We’ve ended up with nearly £30 a suit. If only those posh ladies knew where their new outfits came from. We’re sewing House of Polly labels onto the jackets and that makes them special."

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Sowerbutt's Gelignite

Sowerbutt snapped: “Those bags he was carrying, they’ll be full of gelignite. The only way to bring the Cathedral down is to blow the supporting pillars. Split up inside and keep your shooter holstered. Dean Matthews won’t appreciate hardware being waved about.” Spaghetti grinned: “The Dean will appreciate his Cathedral collapsing around him even less, guv. Not sure Mr Bracken and Mr Churchill will be too impressed either.”

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Sowerbutt's Cathedral

Spaghetti shouted. “Guv, that’s the plate I saw, outside the Cathedral. Stop the van, Nero.” As the two men ran back towards St Paul's magnificent entrance, they could see the taxi was empty, its flag still down. Sowerbutt suddenly stopped. “Dear God, Spaghetti. They are after St Paul’s. Remember what Vershinin’s mate said before he was shot.'God’s curse on you. His church will come tumbling down'."

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Sowerbutt's Blitz

Sowerbutt glanced around – bomb sites, blackened ruins, heaps of bricks and charred timber, a burnt-out car beginning to rust with the recent rain. The aftermath of the terrible Sunday a couple of weeks ago, the smell of ash and burning still in the air.

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Sowerbutt's Revolution

An ovation awaited Harry Pollitt, the ex-General Secretary of the Communist Party. The essence of the convention, he said, was not only the discussions for which they had come together, but the bringing of the masses into action by every conceivable means. The soldiers were with them, he thundered; by uniting and using their forces they had the power to realise the People's Government at long last.

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Sowerbutt's Report

McGaskie’s report of the meeting survives in an acid-free archives box, stored in a former country estate in the Home Counties, designated under the Official Secrets Act of 1989. He did not mention his rabble-rousing speech, urging the delegates to take to the streets and smash the power of the capitalist warmongers. 
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Sowerbutt's Inquiries

Nero turned round from the driver’s seat. “I asked around the local ladies, guv. They do a lot of business with the embassies. The Reds are big clients, but they’ve never seen anyone answering Vershinin’s description."
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Sowerbutt's Rations

The butcher’s shop was already open; the elderly butcher in his striped apron and his young apprentice busy preparing the meagre meat supplies behind the black-out curtains. He had managed to get hold of three off-ration rabbits which he was jointing to share among his best customers. 
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Sowerbutt's Disaster

“Makes you feel helpless, doesn’t it, guv? One Jerry bomb at Bank tube last night and a hundred die – men, women, kiddies. Be more bodies when dawn comes up. Won’t forget January 11, 1941 in a hurry,” Spaghetti shook his head. “How much longer is this going on for?” “Hit the booking hall and all the families trying to kip down there,” Sowerbutt sighed. “Let’s hope Jerry turns east soon as the Gingernut says.”

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Sowerbutt's Friend

Churchill’s eyes twinkled: “Sorbay. Yes, I like the man, gets things done. I was pleased to meet him on the bomb sites and I enjoy his supplies.” “Yes, Prime Minister,” Bracken said. “The world has moved on since the days of Gladstone’s forays into the underworld. You must leave these arrangements to me.”

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Sowerbutt's Plot

Churchill beamed: “Operation Guthrum spawns another conspiracy to inflict misery and mayhem on Jerry. The little corporal, deep in the bowels of Berlin, will conclude American aid is on its way to prop up the Soviet edifice. He will have to launch his Eastern offensive before the Liberty ships set sail. He has no time to lose, invade as soon as the weather breaks.  Hope is on the horizon at last for our brave capital and our cities.”

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Sowerbutt's Visit

Peering through his half-moon glasses, Churchill growled: “The die is cast, dear Brendan. My golden geese at Bletchley confirm that Jerry is taking Uncle Joe’s so-called visit seriously. Wireless messages here, there and everywhere."
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Sowerbutt's Scam

Pop rubbed his stubbly chin. “Be lovely to get the girl and the baby over here and settle the family on one of the farms. Mr Sorbay knew some Eyeties when he was in the Spanish War, he told me. They had a great scam going, selling Eyetie tanks to the other side. Corpo Truppe Volontarie, he called them.”

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Sowerbutt's PoW

“There’s only 20 at Puttridge Bury with more expected. The old sergeant in charge has become a good mate, he enjoys the occasional chicken. He said the plan was for the Eyeties to build the camp – a few huts and so on. WarAg stepped in with the shortage and got eight Eyeties released for the farms. We got Pietro – worth the bottle of Old Bushmills to see Bernie’s face,” Jo-Jo said.

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Sowerbutt's Barber

Tears coursed down the cheeks of Bernie White as he walked through the kitchen door of Garden Farm. Arms outstretched, he whispered: “Pietro, Pietro.” An unshaven Italian, wearing an oversized army uniform with coloured patches, hugged the barber. Laughing and crying, Bernie said. “You see, we cry. Not like you English with stiff upper lips.”

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Sowerbutt's Dinner

“I say, old boy, what are all these newspaper parcels? Not explosives,” the slight military man asked.

Sowerbutt nodded at a couple of Cocker’s cousins who had just walked into the bar. “Nothing you need to concern yourself about. Just helping to feed the hungry families of the East End. No-one else seems to care.” Sowerbutt was looking forward to a roast duck dinner.

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Sowerbutt's Invasion

"Unlike the rest of Europe, Britain hasn’t been invaded for 1,000 years. We are not the friendliest people towards foreigners and we don’t like being pushed around. The society set, much of the civil service, some of the government would have sued for peace, preferring their bank balances to showing any balls. But the ordinary people support Winnie," Brendan Bracken said.
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Sowerbutt's Wife

Franco said: "Many terrible things happened during the years of fighting, but I will carry the loss of my beloved goddaughter, Kasandra, - your late wife - in my heart forever.  You were too generous to the scum who murdered her. I would have crucified him and left him as carrion."

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Sowerbutt's Family

Generalissimo Franco walked heavily across the ornate reception room in the Pazo de Meiras at Sada, put his hands on Sowerbutt’s shoulders and kissed both his cheeks. “Jimmy,” he said, “it is very good to see you again. You must always call me Paco, you are family."

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Sowerbutt's File

The file’s former occupants, including the vital index page, were separately stamped with the classification “Never To Be Released”, repeatedly checked, placed in an acid-free archival storage box and driven under close escort to a tightly-guarded anonymous storage facility, designated under the Official Secrets Act of 1989. 
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