Sowerbutt's Secret

Churchill said. “The die is cast, dear boy. Your Argies in Edinburgh know about our visitor.” “Yes, sir,” Bracken smiled. “We’ve recorded two telephone conversations with the Embassy and the Foreign Office has been notified a diplomatic bag is going out on the next Lisbon clipper. We’ll check it.”

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Sowerbutt's Photograph

"Yes, Prime Minister, I so love that look,” the photographer said, glancing through his camera. “A little more powder, a little more light and we are ready.” Churchill growled: “You see what I have to put up with, dear Brendan, for your publicity photographs. Mr Beaton powdering my nose.” “A fellow Harrovian, sir, as well as  an inspired photographer,” Bracken smiled. 

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Sowerbutt's Lady

Sowerbutt gulped his whiskey. He could deal with the worst of the East End thugs or a fight-to-the-finish with the Reds, but he was never sure about Polly’s reactions. He felt familiar shivers up his spine.

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Sowerbutt's Diamonds

The King’s Messenger had handed the letter from the Ankara Embassy to the Brigadier while still on board the Lodestar. He made no mention of the bags of uncut industrial diamonds, worth about £5,000, strapped to his legs.

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Sowerbutt's Uncle

As the motorcade pulled out of the RAF station’s gates, a RAF Regiment guard standing rigidly to attention whispered to his mate: “Cor blimey, I’m going to tell my grandchildren I was feet away from Uncle Joe.”

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Sowerbutt's Landing

The dot in the sky grew steadily bigger, the large twin-engine aeroplane making a slow glide down towards the River Eden and a perfect landing at RAF Leuchars on the Fife coast.
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Sowerbutt's Barber

“Know a bloke called Pietro Chipolina?” “Of course, I do, Pop,” Bernie nodded. “My brother-in-law,  a caporalmaggiore with the Italian lot in Libya.” “Dark hair, brown eyes, scar on the back of his left hand?” The barber looked gobsmacked. “You’ve seen him, Pop. Where is he?” “Done better than that, lad. I bought him.”

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Sowerbutt's Agony

Churchill growled: "The little corporal, his red eyes glinting with greed, wants to break us on this island. He will not. Goering’s minions bomb us when the Thames is at its lowest to worsen our pain. We will endure it. With God’s good grace, we will see through the agony of losing our beloved city. We will never surrender.”

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Sowerbutt's Call

Churchill stood up, his chin jutting forward in his bulldog pose. “This war will be won by America’s industrial might. Give us the tools and with God’s grace we will finish the job. Arm us with words alone and we will sink into an abyss of evil and corruption, the like of which the world has never seen before."
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Sowerbutt's Worry

“Amid the death and destruction, St Paul’s survives and I have ordered men and machinery to defend it to the last.  The magnificent dome is a symbol of our Empire, I pray that it survives," Churchill growled.

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Sowerbutt's Fire

“We must brace ourselves,” the Prime Minister said. “The heart of the Empire, the ancient City of London, will be no more by daybreak. A wasteland of rubble. A firestorm, the like of which has never been seen before, rages through the narrow streets. It is the Great Fire of London, almost three centuries later but ten times the ferocity."

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Sowerbutt's Incendiary

The fireman said: “An incendiary lodged up in the dome. Dry old timber up there, would have gone up in a flash. One of the Cathedral fire watchers – a clergyman, young bloke – got hold of it and pushed it out, bold as brass. Tumbled down to the street and was dealt with. He’d have been burnt to a cinder if the beams had caught. Deserves a medal.”

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Sowerbutt's Cathedral

Sowerbutt looked around, the great Cathedral was ringed by fire; buildings in Canon Street were well alight. It  stood above the flames; the dome surrounded by a pinky-red haze and swirls of black smoke.
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Sowerbutt's Cuppa

As they sipped hot sweet tea, a yellowy-white flash burst behind the Cathedral. “Paternoster Row,” said the fireman. “Fires are out of control. That’ll be another stock of books going up. Terrible.”

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Sowerbutt's Gelignite

“Well done lads,” the auxiliary fireman shouted. “You took a chance, didn’t you? The REs have been here a couple of times tonight for a cuppa. They press-ganged the VIP vehicle earlier on to carry the gelignite. Blowing fire breaks through the City to stop the flames spreading out of control. The lads here call it the Curtains Car."
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Sowerbutt's Test

“Back it up, boy,” bellowed a Sapper sergeant, standing in the turret of a Lanchester armoured car.  Gears screeched and the engine revved but the seven-ton vehicle stayed motionless. “God preserve me,” the sergeant said. “I’ve got Winnie’s official armoured car and a conscript driver who hasn’t passed his bleeding test."
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Sowerbutt's Battle

Sowerbutt pulled off his jacket and beat the flames, kicking over a wooden fence that ran alongside the burning hedge. Spaghetti grabbed a spade and began throwing soil onto the fires.
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Sowerbutt's Warning

The fireman sighed: “It’s the cracking that gets to you, eerie like a warning from the grave. The walls so hot they crack and down they come. One of my mates was buried as a wall collapsed, no time to get out. Top bloke with a missus and kiddies.”

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Sowerbutt's Fires

The exhausted fireman was pleased to talk. “With our taxi, just been pulled back from Shoe Lane, One pump and our hose against dozens of fires. The fires are out of control. Low tide and there’s not much water to pump up. Nothing more we could do.”

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Sowerbutt's Fashion Show

“Cor blimey, you must have come for the fashion show?” asked the auxiliary fireman, standing near the entrance to St Paul’s. Sowerbutt burst out laughing. His leather jacket was torn and burnt; what was left of his  shirt was streaked with ash and brick dust. Some of his long brown hair was missing where sparks had cascaded from falling timber.
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Sowerbutt's Shot

Missionary raised his Webley and fired, the bullet hitting the Spaniard in the middle of his forehead. With a shocked expression on his face, the man stood motionless for a second, arms outstretched. He pitched forward, dead.
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Sowerbutt's Fight

The Spaniard’s voice rising, he shouted: “Come on, boy. Fight like a man. Are you scared of me? Hijo de puta.” He pulled a knife from his belt and took a step forward.
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Sowerbutt's Tableau

The shed turned into a frozen tableau. The street boys stood stock still, ready to run. The Spaniards, muttered and looked sullen, ready for a fight.
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Sowerbutt's Trigger

Missionary nodded to one of his lads who aimed his shotgun at a fence running away from the shed and pulled the trigger. The pattern of shot would have killed anyone standing in the way.

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Sowerbutt's Bombs

Wave after wave of Heinkels and Dorniers could be seen dropping their loads of bombs and incendiaries to fuel the blazes below. 
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