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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Sowerbutt's Finger

A chubby pink finger in a Horse Guards office trembled on its way down the list followed by a spectacular explosion. The well-furnished suite was more familiar with conversations about matters of state and the acquisition of KCBs than shrieks of anger over East End road accidents. 
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Sowerbutt's Enemy

Hawk-Face swept the bowler off his mop of bottle-yellow hair, held it out in silent salute and bowed low as the gravediggers began shovelling the heavy soil into the grave. 
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Sowerbutt's Girls

The boy blushed bright red when a blonde among a nearby group of attractive girls wearing colourful shawls, daring necklines and flouncy skirts winked at him, smiled and raised her eyebrows.

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Sowerbutt's Dog

Hackles rising and teeth bared, the dog watched as the latecomers made their way across the old cemetery in London’s bombed-out East End.
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