Sowerbutt's Wink

Her voice muffled by her scarf, Madame Komarovski asked the men in Russian their names. A string of short words answered her. She mouthed, “Expletives” to Sowerbutt who winked at One-Line. The giant man knelt over one of the Russians, clamping his left hand over the man’s mouth. Pushing the strong fingers of his right hand into a point, One-Line began systematically jabbing the Russian’s ribcage, armpits, neck and groin. Sweating profusely, the Russian rolled on the floor in agony, muted screams and grunts could be heard behind One-Line’s huge hand.

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Sowerbutt's Snatch

It had taken seconds for Spaghetti and Tipper to fell the Russians with well-aimed cosh blows; Sowerbutt and One-Line catching the beefy men as they fell and dragging them through the open door into the empty shop. Hands on their shoulder holsters, Cocker and Missionary had kept close watch on the alley-way where the ambush was sprung. Passers-by in the nearby street went about their business without a second glance.
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Sowerbutt's Thoughts

The three men flitted out of the Soviet Embassy grounds as silently as they had entered, dodging a couple of guards enjoying a smoke of evil-smelling cigarettes near the high wall. Before they split up to make their separate ways back to Poplar, Sowerbutt said: “There might be a line in embassies with the war on, information, papers and so on. I bet  Mr Bracken would be interested in what Joe Kennedy is up to over in Grosvenor Square. He’d have a few compromising letters from high-up wives, I bet.”

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Sowerbutt's Generosity

Tipper, a balaclava pulled over his blond crew-cut, sidled up to the edge of the steps to the Soviet Embassy. Pulling a cloth bag from his jacket, he emptied the contents on one of the steps. Two plain gold rings, two wallets with papers but minus several pound notes which were safe in Tipper’s pocket, a miniature Orthodox icon and two bloody thumbs that he had bought from the elderly undertaker at the end of High Bob for two pounds. He froze at the sound of a car door banging outside in Kensington Palace Gardens. “Society set back from a night out on the tiles,” Sowerbutt whispered to Spaghetti. “We’ll pay a visit round here soon, plenty of open windows no doubt. The owners just begging for help with storing their valuables.”

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Sowerbutt's Climb

The three men had brought sacking with them to cover the broken glass as they climbed over the high brick wall surrounding the Soviet Embassy in South Kensington. All three were experienced burglars.

Safely in the extensive grounds, Sowerbutt kept watch on the front of the ornate building, Spaghetti stared at the shadows among the trees and bushes in case the armed patrol returned unexpectedly. All three men carried shooters. Sowerbutt told his two lieutenants: “We don’t want a Shoot-out at the OK Corral, but just in case we have to wave goodbye to one of the guards in a hurry.”
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Sowerbutt's Expedition

 Spaghetti whispered: “Never seen such security - barbed wire, trip wires, electrified wire, broken glass, traps, strips of nails, armed guards. I even spotted a couple of sound detectors, don’t see many of those about. Wonder which of the 20 bedrooms His Gloriousness the Ambassador, Maisky isn’t it, kips in?”

Sowerbutt watched as Tipper, ghost-like, slipped through the shadows on the manicured lawns of the Italianate mansion in South Kensington which housed the Soviet Embassy. He froze, waiting for a couple of armed guards to pass, then picked his way towards the marble steps leading to the imposing entrance.

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Sowerbutt's Visit

The two men had slipped through an unlocked rear door in the Savoy Hotel and found the Spanish businessman’s suite.  Seconds later, Sowerbutt was concealed behind the velvet curtains and Tipper was sitting at the back of a settee; the two men hardly pausing for breath after the lock on the door had succumbed. Through the open door to the bedroom, they could hear regular light snoring.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Sowerbutt checked the room for a briefcase.  Was that it by the desk, no. A dark patch on Tipper’s settee, no. A loud banging on the door interrupted Sowerbutt’s chain of thought.
The snoring stopped, a light went on in the bedroom and a ghostly figure in a white robe swept across the room.
“Senor Gonzales, I am so sorry to wake you so early. It is a matter of life and death,” a voice exclaimed.
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Sowerbutt's Mail

“How many mailbags, Spaghetti?”

“We counted 20, guv. They all looked packed full. I suppose the numbers could vary.”
“Some documents perhaps, but still room for a good few notes. This will be a one-off hit, lads. We’ll have to take what’s there,” Sowerbutt said.

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Sowerbutt's Scheme

Sowerbutt picked up his glass of Old Bushmills. “The weakest point, gentlemen, is when the mail bags are in the warehouse. That’s where we hit. The caretaker is in his office and the Post Office lads are away in the terminal, filling their faces. We’ll take some girls with us. An older lady, dressed as a cleaner, to distract the caretaker and two girls, dressed as passengers, for the Post Office lads in the terminal. Nero, find out if the caretaker is still up for a bit. Once his pants are down, he won’t notice what’s happening in the warehouse."

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Sowerbutt's Fortune

Sowerbutt chuckled. “What about the headlines? ‘The Great Plane Robbery’, ‘Thousands Vanish In Mystery Snatch”. Thousands? We’ve tucked away more than a quarter of a million, can you believe. Way more than enough for all of us and we’ll make sure the local families are sorted out when the bombing stops."
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Sowerbutt's Smokes

“Turns out that Brylcreem Boys are flying stuff down from Birmingham. It sounded like those Brummie blokes who bought our smokes the other week," Nero said. "Would you believe the stopper is helping to shift the stuff down here in Croydon and South London. The cheek of it, stoppers are supposed to be honest.”

Sowerbutt smiled: “Dishonest stoppers, well I never.”
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Sowerbutt's TV

"Television was starting to take off in the years before Jimmy disappeared." The retired writer for the East London Pioneer, who still has the notebook from his early 1960s interview with Jimmy Sowerbutt, said: "There was a waiting list for TV sets and money was still tight. Jimmy said he had a cast-iron alibi for the night. But the HMV factory up in Hayes was broken into and TV sets appeared in the East End, particularly in pubs, at a good price. No doubt, others were sold to the nobs in the West End at a much higher price."
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Strike

"Jimmy Sorbay made good money in the '47 Docks Strike." The retired writer for the East London Pioneer, who still has the notebook from his early 1960s interview with Jimmy Sowerbutt, said: "Food was starting to go off in the unloaded ships, so Jimmy took a load of his lads in and fought a pitched battle with the union boys and the Reds. Guess who won? He was trucking out food, which sold at a top price, for several days before the Army moved in and broke the strike."
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Sowerbutt's Puzzle

“According to our Zionist friends, with whom the Palestinians have been in touch, they are threatening to deliver Herr General to the Soviets and expose our double-dealing," Brendan Bracken said."Not that we owe anything to the Russians but the propaganda onslaught would not be helpful. The Commons would not be too impressed and it would give the Isolationists across the Atlantic a field day. What the lunatics want is for the British authorities to open the Palestinian borders to the Jewish refugees from Europe. That’s not going to happen, we need the Arab oil for the war effort. Any ideas, Sorbay?”
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Sowerbutt's House

“That’s another thing, James,” Polly said angrily, jabbing her man in the ribs with her fingers, a trick she had learnt from her mother when she ran the brothel. “I haven’t seen your wonderful little house, have I? Has it been painted or is there a single stick of furniture there? Do they have proper bathrooms in Luton, I am not using a lean-to. Nor am I living in a slum. You go off buying these places without talking to your partner - is that what I’m called or not these days?”

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Sowerbutt's Bus Stop

“Talk pleasantries with the Jerry you are escorting, reassure him about his journey, but discuss nothing else," Brendan Bracken said. "One more judgement call for you. Kill him instantly if he tries any nonsense, I’ll take care of the body."

The red trolleybus slowed next to the bus stop at Poplar Rec.
Sowerbutt smiled. “Time to get off, Mr Bracken. I have some urgent arrangements to make.”
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Sowerbutt's Secret

"Last time we met Sorbay, I mentioned the Official Secrets Act of 1911. That still applies, particularly as the gentleman you are escorting is a Jerry who is kindly helping us out with a few matters," Brendan Bracken said.

“You may not repeat what I have just said to a soul, not even to your lady. I cannot save you from a long term of imprisonment if word gets out. And no chance of cooking the beak, as you and your friends say."
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Sowerbutt's Bus

“I hope you are satisfied, Sorbay," Brendan Bracken said. "This is the first time I have been on a trolleybus and I can assure you it will be the last. Are they always this empty? I’ll get onto John Reith, the wastrel. Couldn’t run the BBC and useless as Transport Minister, never understood why the Old Man kept him on in Cabinet.”
“Few passengers on the late night services, apart from the shift workers, Mr Bracken, but you have to get them home somehow. Very busy during the day, no cars around here, are there?” Sowerbutt smiled. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-of-Red-ebook/dp/B00B1CWM5M/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1358353851&sr=1-1

Sowerbutt's Rations

"Rationing continued for years after the war, but Jimmy worked out a good ruse." The retired writer for the East London Pioneer, who still has the notebook from his early 1960s interview with Jimmy Sowerbutt, said: "He had a deal going with the undertakers across the East End. As soon as they got a client, they tipped him off for a consideration. He'd pop round to the grieving family and buy the deceased's ration book. Ready supply of ration coupons - no-one ever checked up."
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Sowerbutt's Fuel

"Jimmy did some big deals after the war." The retired writer for the East London Pioneer, who still has the notebook from his early 1960s interview with Jimmy Sowerbutt, said: "Petrol was scarce with the currency restrictions and ordinary civilians didn't get their allocations back until '48. Jimmy had big cash reserves from the war and invested thousands of pounds in petrol, bought from the GIs. He stored it in tanks on the disused airfields and sold it gradually for a fortune. Made his money back many times over."
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Sowerbutt's Currency

"Jimmy had his own currency after the war - nylons and American cigarettes." The retired writer for the East London Pioneer, who still has the notebook from his early 1960s interview with Jimmy Sowerbutt, said: "Tobacco was very short with all the currency restrictions and nylons were worth a fortune.
"So he did his deals with the thousands of GIs and USAAF lads in Britain - some on their way home or off to Germany, some resting. They wanted girls, liquor or access to the nightclubs. Jimmy supplied them and took payment in cigarettes and nylons."
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Sowerbutt's Signs

"One of the biggest laughs Jimmy had in the dark days after the war was the Battle of the Signs." The retired writer for the East London Pioneer, who still has the notebook from his early 1960s interview with Jimmy Sowerbutt, said: "They took down all the street signs in 1940 so that Jerry would get lost if he invaded. In Poplar, they started putting them back up in '46. Some streets had disappeared in the Blitz, so that got them puzzled. Other signs were put on the wrong streets and had to be re-done. Come nightfall, the street boys got out and changed the signs over. Went on for months, Jimmy said. People loved it."
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Sowerbutt's Potatoes

"Another jingle we remembered from the war was the Potato Song," the retired writer for the East London Pioneer, who still has the notebook from his early 1960s interview with Jimmy Sowerbutt, said. "They were played on the wireless over and over again.
"Potatoes new. Potatoes old
Potato ( in a salad ) cold
Potatoes baked or mashed or fried
Potatoes whole, potato pied
Enjoy them all including chips
Remembering spuds don't come in ships."
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Sowerbutt's Garden

"We had a good laugh when I interviewed Jimmy," the retired writer for the East London Pioneer, who still has the notebook from his early 1960s interview with Jimmy Sowerbutt, said. "He remembered the Dig for Victory song that they played on the wireless. Back in 1940, Polly had had the garden behind their place in East India Dock Road dug up for vegetables. Any spare bit of land was used.
"Dig! Dig! Dig! And your muscles will grow big
Keep on pushing the spade
Don't mind the worms
Just ignore their squirms
And when your back aches laugh with glee
And keep on diggin?
Till we give our foes a Wiggin?
Dig! Dig! Dig! to Victory"
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Sowerbutt's Jingle

"Jimmy had a great sense of humour," the retired writer for the East London Pioneer, who still has the notebook from his early 1960s interview with Jimmy Sowerbutt, said. "When I interviewed him about the war, he kept whistling the Potato Pete tune. It was one of the jingles they pushed on the wireless to get us to eat our vegetables. Used to drive us potty."
"Here's the man who ploughs the fields
Here's the girl who lifts up the yield.
Here's the man who deals the clamp, so that millions of jaws can chew and champ.
That's the story and here's the star,
Potato Pete
eat up,
ta ta!"
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Sowerbutt's Keys

“Don’t you worry about the call-up Maud, it’s a few months off yet. I’m going to get my own back on that bastard manager. I’ve got hold of some spare keys, no-one knows, and I’m going to give them to Mr Sorbay. He told me to look out for him when I got the job at the Savoy.

“Once Mr Sorbay has done his thieving, I’ll slip the keys into the manager’s locker. When the stoppers come, he’ll get the blame. Mr Sorbay only takes the best stuff, it will serve that bastard right.”
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Sowerbutt's Cuppa

Slumping into one of the leather chairs in Coach’s tiny office, Sowerbutt exclaimed: “I’m looking forward to this cuppa, Coach, old friend. That is some tough lady, I’m exhausted. What on earth gave you the idea of ballet lessons?”

“Something you mentioned, Jimmy. Remember you talked about employing Madame Komarovski to change One-Line’s walk? I got to thinking she might help the way our lads move about in the boxing ring. Give them a bit of an edge.”
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Sowerbutt's Lesson

Shaking his long brown hair, Sowerbutt said: “You've started ballet lessons? I just cannot see you in a pink tutu, my  friend.”

Coach, thickset and bald, smiled: “Don’t you worry, Jimmy. When I heard you were back from the wilds of Wales, I put you down for this week’s session. Don’t be late, Madame Dragon-fire will have your hide.”
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Sowerbutt's Education

Jimmy Sowerbutt had not expected Coach Marigold’s answer when he asked his old friend the previous day whether much had happened during his recent weeks away. The gymnasium in King George’s Hall on East India Dock Road had always been the same since he started boxing there as a boy.

Coach blurted out: “We’ve started ballet lessons, Jimmy.”
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Sowerbutt's Revenge

The early edition of the Evening Standard was leading on a story about a Russian being found unconscious outside a notorious Soho club in a state of undress, as the paper put it. It speculated that he was a senior diplomat conducting secret negotiations in London and quoted an unnamed police source as saying the police forensic laboratory was examining a restricted substance found on the man’s body. Neither the Foreign Office nor the Soviet Embassy had any comment.

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Sowerbutt's Pub

“Impressed on all my friends, old boy, that Luton has the best pubs. Rustic charm, good whiskey and friendly natives,” the slight military man smiled, sipping his Old Bushmills.

“What do they say, John? Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Sowerbutt replied. The two men were sitting at a bar table in The Engine in the centre of Luton, Tipper stood guarding the door to Bute Street, quietly drinking a pint. “They don’t stick their noses in here and the landlord’s missus is a top hand in the kitchen. What more do you want?”
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Sowerbutt's Shop

Sowerbutt buried himself behind the Mirror, reading the letters calling for reprisal air raids against Berlin. “Teach the Jerries a lesson they won’t forget,” said one. “I want 100 dead Jerries to make up for my darling Peter,” said another.

“Shop, what shop?” Sowerbutt said suddenly, registering what Polly had said.
The attractive red-head sighed and shook her head. “Sorbay. The shop we’ve opened in Grosvenor Square with your friend’s niece. I’m sure I told you all about it.”
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Sowerbutt's Plans

“How many lads has Shapiro got, Nero?”

“Half-a-dozen, Mr Sorbay. But nothing to worry about, he treats them like dirt. I heard them talking about the old bastard in the Rose and Crown.”
“Better and better. We’ll create a diversion in that empty building next door to give his lads an excuse to leg it. We’ll tie him up, strip the place and load up our lorries, then drop a match."
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Sowerbutt's Letter

“This is a letter to Madame Komarovski from the son of an old friend of hers from her Moscow days. He goes on about poor Papa who died at the hands of the evil Reds. Then he talks about cursing them until his dying breath. After getting that lot off his chest, he comes to the point. Could she put up for a few days a seaman friend from Lisbon who has a letter for the English government from Jerry. Just until he finds his feet and gets hold of the VIPs he is supposed to contact.”

“Brilliant, guv,” Spaghetti said. “That bit about the Reds makes it sound genuine.”
“That should be bait enough for the Reds,” Sowerbutt said. “Pop and his matchbox men can keep watch on the streets and send a message when the Russkies are coming. We’ll grab them and hold them in the old laundry near Queens Theatre, you know the one that took a couple of incendiaries."
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Sowerbutt's Mission

"The brothel-keeper, and his men will secure the airfield. Less conspicuous and no official fingerprints, Prime Minister. He and his men were Blackshirts, so it could be described as an attempted coup, led by Jerry, if anything should emerge into the public arena," Brendan Bracken said.

“Sorbay will drive the Jerry envoy down to Luton Hoo, 20 minutes away. Good security there being the new Eastern Command HQ."
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Sowerbutt's Supplies

Sowerbutt sat on a crate filled with copper wire that Shapiro, or Hercule Poirot as the locals knew him, had planned to send to the port of Riga in Russian-occupied Latvia. He was presently negotiating a deal for a couple of tons of copper wire with the de Havilland factory in Hatfield for a new hush-hush twin-engine bomber that the Air Ministry had ordered. Like most companies, the factory was battling with the bureaucracy to obtain official allocations of raw materials.

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Sowerbutt's Fears

“After a couple of glasses, she told me that first thing this morning, he was up at Luton Hoo with some IRA bloke. She says he’s a real mean bastard. She is scared, doesn’t want Eamonn to be locked up like her old man. Says she doesn’t want to be on her own again.”

Sowerbutt was on his feet, grabbing his leather jacket and strapping on his shoulder holster. “Christ, Nero. An IRA attack on Luton Hoo. An attack on the army base or do they know who is staying there? Why would they want to kill our VIP or do they want to kidnap him like the Haganah and the general? Perhaps it‘s the Haganah again, pulling the strings.”

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Sowerbutt's Prospects

“Are you going to marry him, Polly? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Polly blushed, it was a question she had asked herself many times. “I don’t know, Dot, I suppose is the answer. I don’t know whether Sorbay wants to marry me or not. He’s never mentioned it, he was married before but never talks about it. Doesn’t talk about the future, not here often enough to talk about anything."
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Sowerbutt's Necklace

“Did I show you what Sorbay bought me last time he was in trouble.” Polly smiled and slipped into the bedroom, bringing back the stunning silver necklace studded with small diamonds.

“Oh Polly. That’s beautiful. You should wear it and enjoy it. He’s very fond of you, isn’t he?”
“I suppose you’re right, Dot. I’m like most East End girls, hiding away their valuables somewhere safe in case they are caught in a raid.”

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Sowerbutt's Rations

“Dublin was disappointing, I admit,” Sowerbutt said. “With the Church threatening eternal damnation, there’s just not the business. I checked the books for that half-share in the brothel, but there wasn’t the turnover. Plenty of red-blooded lads, but it is a small town, too strait-laced.

“Still it was good to catch up with some of the Blueshirts I knew in Spain and we’ll be getting some deliveries soon of Irish beef and butter. Make a pretty penny.”
Polly smiled: “I’ll be glad of some decent food. The rations are hopeless, if you can find anything.  It is alright those politicians talking about fighting the Jerries on the beaches. Meanwhile we’re wasting away. Thank goodness for your tins of steak.”

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-of-Red-ebook/dp/B00B1CWM5M/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1358353851&sr=1-1 

Sowerbutt's Invasion

Polly would not admit it to her exasperating man but she was worried about the talk of bombings and the imminent German invasion. Sowerbutt's assurances about his Blackshirt contacts were one thing, but England would never be the same again. Besides she and the girls could be hurt in the fighting.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-of-Red-ebook/dp/B00B1CWM5M/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1358353851&sr=1-1 

Sowerbutt's Explanation

"What on earth gave you the idea of ballet lessons, Coach?”

“Something you mentioned, Jimmy. Remember you talked about employing Madame Komarovski to change One-Line’s walk? I got to thinking she might help the way the lads move about in the boxing ring. Give them a bit of an edge.”
“She has done a brilliant job with One-Line. The big oaf still worries about someone from his old battalion recognising him as a deserter. But I tell him his own mother, God rest her soul, would not recognise him. Different man. The glasses and hair colouring help as well.”
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Sowerbutt's Warning

Tucking her guidance stick under her arm, Madame Komarovski, who sported short grey hair, clapped her hands twice. “More effort next week, gentlemen, if you please. I don’t come along here for fun, I expect 100 per cent from you. Your hour is up, class dismissed.”

With a curt nod to Sowerbutt and Coach, the diminutive dance teacher collected her cloak and bag and swept out of the gym.
Slumping into one of the leather chairs in Coach’s tiny office, Sowerbutt exclaimed: “I’m looking forward to a cuppa. That is some tough lady, I’m exhausted."
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Sowerbutt's Surprise

Sowerbutt had not expected Coach Marigold’s answer when he asked his old friend whether much had happened during his recent weeks away in Wales and Ireland. The gymnasium in King George’s Hall on East India Dock Road had always been the same since he started boxing there as a boy. The two men always laughed at the Coach’s usual reply, “the only change is that we are getting older, Jimmy”.

Coach would never admit it openly but he was pleased to see the hard-faced businessman back in Poplar. His view was shared by many local families; no-one standing in their corner. Coach blurted out: “We’ve started ballet lessons, Jimmy.”

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Sowerbutt's Watch

Sowerbutt and Spaghetti were sitting in the Ford A Model parked near the airfield, smoking coronas. “What time did you say our visitor is due to drop in tonight?” Spaghetti asked.

“Approaching midnight. John is camped upstairs in the Bull with an army wireless, ready to receive messages from the aeroplane. The radio operator has run an aerial up on the roof.
“I brought young Percy up with me, he’s going to run messages up here from the Bull if anything changes or goes wrong. The landlord said he had an old bike Percy can use.”
Spaghetti grinned: “Who’s the VIP then, guv? Must be somebody important to go to all this fuss."
“They won’t say even though we have to collect them from the aeroplane and take them down to Luton Hoo. They said there would be one or two people, they weren’t sure. After the VIP leaves, we have to tow the plane into the hangar with the tractor and guard it. No-one, repeat no-one, is to enter. Use your shooters.
“It’s got to be somebody flying in from across the Channel. You would not fly here in secret on an internal flight, would you? Must be a neutral or even a Jerry. Hopefully, for peace talks. I’m sick of all this bombing.”
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Sowerbutt's Blade

Sowerbutt ran the needle-sharp point of the blade gently across the teacher’s exposed throat, leaving a thin red line in its wake. It was a trademark he left on selected victims.

“You make me very angry, big mouth,” he shouted at the teacher who was sweating heavily. “Nobody touches my Family. Nobody.”
He nodded at One-Line who swung his fist at the teacher’s stomach. Spluttering, the teacher sagged forward against his ropes.
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Sowerbutt's Shave

The hawk-faced man, known among the membership of the Stepney Communist Party for his long-winded speeches, spat out: “You’ve broken the truce, Sorbay, you bastard. We’ll be after you ten-fold, we’ll sweep you Blackshirt bastards from the streets of Poplar like horse dung. Clear the place of you traitor Fascists, once and for all.”

Sowerbutt leant down towards the teacher, bound securely to a chair in the blackened ruins of an East India Dock Road warehouse.
He slowly opened his razor-sharp clasp-knife and began shaving stubble from the shaking teacher’s face. His icy voice said: “Traitors, are we? Haven’t seen you Reds do much for the war effort so far. Uncle Joe and Adolf kissing and cuddling together."
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Sowerbutt's Rules

“You know the rules, son. I’m always ready to talk business with anyone. But no-one comes onto the Family’s patch without permission. If you are too young to know that, you shouldn’t be out alone on the street.”

Sowerbutt nodded to Nero and Tipper. In seconds, the youngsters’ cheap black shoes were off and tossed out onto the road, one landing in a pile left behind by the horse-drawn cart delivering bags of flour to the bakery. Next came the suit trousers and the baggy underpants. Without a second glance, the young street-sellers were racing westwards along East India Dock Road, suddenly swerving down a side street to avoid Poplar Police Station and the elderly reservist standing guard on the steps.
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Sowerbutt's Bombs

Polly smiled: “I’ll be glad of some decent food. The rations are hopeless, that is if you can find anything. Everybody is saying the same. It is alright those politicians talking about fighting the Jerries on the beaches. Meanwhile we’re wasting away. Talk about slim figures, walking skeletons more like. Thank goodness for those tins of steak you got hold of.”

Sowerbutt took a mouthful of tea. “The fact remains we are in danger of getting killed if we stay here. Look at the fight the Brylcreem Boys are putting up to stop the Jerries. Day after day and planes dropping like flies everywhere. I heard they downed tools at Manston the other day, had enough of it.
“The Jerry bombers are going to come for London and the Docks soon and the RAF can’t stop them. We will get it in the neck. What about that raid last weekend, the City and Millwall copped it. I saw it all at Guernica, death and destruction.”
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Sowerbutt's Dublin

"Dublin was disappointing, I admit,” Sowerbutt said, thinking it best to push on and not invite more criticism from Polly. “With the Church there threatening eternal damnation, there’s just not the business. I checked the books, as you know, for that half-share of the brothel we were offered, but there wasn’t the turnover. Plenty of red-blooded lads living in Dublin, but it is a small town, too strait-laced, not like the Smoke. Not much business on the side either. The port is tiny and nothing much is coming in there.

“Still it was good to catch up with some of the Blueshirts I knew in Spain and we’ll be getting some deliveries soon of Irish beef and butter. Make a pretty penny.”
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Sowerbutt's Lessons

Slumping into a green leather chair in Coach’s office, Sowerbutt exclaimed: “I’m looking forward to this cuppa, Coach, old friend. That is some tough lady, I’m exhausted. What on earth gave you the idea of ballet lessons?”

“Something you mentioned, Jimmy. Remember you talked about employing Madame Komarovski to change One-Line’s walk? I got to thinking she might help the way the lads move about in the ring. Give them a bit of an edge.”

“She has done a brilliant job with One-Line," Sowerbutt said. "The big oaf still worries about someone from his old battalion recognising him as a deserter. But I tell him his own mother, God rest her soul, would not recognise him. Different man. The glasses and hair colouring as well.”

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Sowerbutt's Thanks

"Apart from your good self, Brendan, we owe much to your brothel-keeper friend, Mr Sorbay," Churchill growled. "He helped us save London and he has helped us persuade the Cousins of the righteousness of our cause. Our coffers would have been empty without him."
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Sowerbutt's Empire

Polly smiled: "Our place in Poplar is doing well as is the new one here. Good cash flow with lots of men away from their families. With the money, we could buy a factory doing war work Plenty of government contracts around."
Sowerbutt nodded. He had always thought of himself as a businessman but not with a factory and regular work.
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Sowerbutt's Revelation

Sowerbutt opened the last file and muffled a gasp. The first sheet was typed in German as was the second and the third. At the bottom of each letter was the unmistakable scrawl of Rudolf Hess. A fourth letter, written in English, bore the bold sloping signature of Walter Funk with the title of Reich Minister of Economics underneath. Glancing over it, Sowerbutt read that preferential distribution rights and manufacturing partnerships were being offered to American companies. A fifth sheet of paper was headed Summary of Tariff  Treaty, Report to Secretary of State Hull.
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Sowerbutt's Letter

"To tell you the truth, Mr Sorbay, I wasn't sure what to do with it," Dipper, a long sausage of a man, said. "It was only over our boiled eggs this morning that the missus remembered that work we did for you the other week was for a government bloke, you said."
Sitting in the front room of the anonymous Stoke Newington house, Sowerbutt looked at the typewritten letter. The flimsy paper had been folded but the signature was unmistakable, a bold Rudolf and Hess trailing off the sheet as though the writer was losing concentration.
"When I saw it was in German, I got Panda to have a squint. Remember he did those German courses with Spaghetti a while ago?
"Panda said it talked about the Old World oppressing the colonial peoples and exploiting their trade. The New World should take them over and make them democracies. They are trying to pinch our Empire, Mr Sorbay."
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Sowerbutt's Holiday

"Where do you go for a holiday in wartime, Polly?" Sowerbutt smiled. "We deserve a break."
Polly looked at her man stretched out on the black settee in the Cheapside flat. "Southend is out, the beaches are closed for the duration. Same in most places, I suppose. They go too far. Look at all that nonsense in Swansea where they sawed the pier in half. Who is going to paddle all the way to the wilds of Wales to invade us?"
"A nice hotel somewhere," Sowerbutt said. "Or one of those remote country houses where all the rich are scarpering to?"
Polly jabbed her man in the ribs. "We'll have a couple of quiet days here and you can tell me what you have been up to."
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Sowerbutt's Paperwork

"I know you said we are after papers at the US Embassy, guv," Tipper said. "But how do we know what's good and what's not. Bit easier with paintings and valuables."

Sowerbutt nodded: "It's going to be tricky. We'll exclude all the obvious rubbish and go through the rest more carefully. We'll look in the obvious places - the drawers in his desk and the safe. It's a Chatwood Duplex. I'm no Peterman but I've got the combination, thanks to John's security friends.
Everything must be put back exactly as we find it. Not a hint that the embassy has been burgled. Too much fuss with complaints to the Foreign Office, John said. Not a good idea with the delicate negotiations going on for loans, he said."
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Sowerbutt's Break-In

Sowerbutt, Spaghetti and Tipper sat in the pitch black, many feet below London's streets. The Central Line tube had stopped for the fifth time in as many minutes. "Electricity supply, I expect, guv," Tipper said. "Too early for bombs though we are safe enough down here."
Glancing round the empty carriage, Sowerbutt said: "You're clear about what we are doing. John's security lads are bending over backwards to help us.
"His lads from the GPO have been inside the US Embassy for a couple of days, fixing faults. They'll slip a window for us on the ground floor. I've got a map of the building from John's mates at Westminster Council. We'll head straight for Mr Kennedy's study. Good being on the side of the righteous for a change, open windows and maps make life so much easier."
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