Sowerbutt's Aircraft

In the moonlit night sky, the twin-engine Jerry aircraft could be seen circling Barton airfield, its undercarriage down and its lights flickering in the agreed recognition code. 
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Sowerbutt's Revenge

"There has been more trouble with the Russkies in London, all over the popular newspapers. Two men from their embassy discovered in compromising circumstances and a warehouse at the Docks, which we suspect has been smuggling goods to the Bolsheviks, burnt to the ground.”
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Sowerbutt's Warning

"Our intelligence suggests that tonight is going to be a heavy night. London again and perhaps some other cities, judging from what we know of the disposition of the Jerry bombing fleets. Perhaps another warning  from Rollmop Goering, talk or lose London.”

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Sowerbutt's Bar

The dark-haired girl, who liked a bit of fun, watched the young stranger out of the corner of her eye, as she wiped over the bar counter and washed the few glasses. The Bull was rarely busy at lunchtime and she was looking forward to putting her feet up for a while before the evening rush when the village men finished their work.

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Sowerbutt's Shave

He opened his razor-sharp clasp-knife and began shaving stubble from the shaking teacher’s face. “Traitors, are we? Haven’t seen you Reds do much for the war effort. Uncle Joe and Adolf kissing and cuddling together."

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Sowerbutt's Truce

"You’ve broken the truce, Sorbay. We’ll be after you ten-fold, we’ll sweep you Blackshirt bastards from the streets of Poplar like horse dung."
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Sowerbutt's Fist

One-Line's palm connected with the teacher‘s face with a loud smack. His huge fist could kill a man at close range, but Sowerbutt had told his friend to be gentle.
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Sowerbutt's Warning

“You won’t get away with this, Sorbay, you bastard,” the hawk-faced man with a shock of black hair said. His right eye was already starting to close.

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Sowerbutt's Flames

The fire that Tipper lit under the gas pipe in the empty building had done the trick. A column of blue and yellow flames shot into the air.

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Sowerbutt's Forger

Sowerbutt said: “Making money hand over fist. Medical exemptions by the dozen, petrol coupons, ration books, ID cards, even passports for the Jewish lads. You name it, the Scribe is raking it in.”

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Sowerbutt's Friend

Ruth Shakes was the very image of the Whitechapel tailor, small with beautiful black hair and a real character. She gave no sign about her recent ordeal of escaping from Europe.
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Sowerbutt's Generals

Churchill sat at the large table, strewn with maps. “Do they think they outrank me? The generals believe they are a law unto themselves and not subject to the will of His Majesty’s duly-elected Government."

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Sowerbutt's Chairs

“These chairs are so comfortable, Percy,” Maud smiled, snuggling into the leather armchair in the Victorian building built in the 1890s to serve Canning Town as a library.

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Sowerbutt's Supplies

Sowerbutt said: “The East End is on a knife edge. Families won’t stand by and see their children starve. There’s very little food in the shops."

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Sowerbutt's London

Brendan Bracken paused: “The bombing goes on night after night, Sorbay. It is relentless. Our information is that more Jerry bomber squadrons are waiting in the wings. How long can London take it?"
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Sowerbutt's Supplies

Before Sowerbutt left the nightclub, he would check with Martin Poulson, the maitre d’hotel, about how his liquor stocks were faring. He knew of several elegant London residences with fine wine cellars whose occupants had vanished to more remote parts of the country.
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Sowerbutt's Volunteers

Sowerbutt had volunteered most of the Family for ARP service to help local families and protect the larders. Some of the girls were working part-time as volunteers in the overcrowded wards at Mile End and Poplar hospitals.
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Sowerbutt's Bombs

The nightly bombing in London was non-stop. Several families whom Sowerbutt had known for years had disappeared under the rubble and a couple of his larders had gone up in smoke.

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Sowerbutt's Envoy

"The Empire wants some sort of arrangement, we would welcome a Jerry envoy. That is our only hope to save poor London,” Churchill growled.

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Sowerbutt's Title

“We don’t relish receiving correspondence from our brother. Always carping on about a title for his lady wife, if that’s the word," the King said.
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