Sowerbutt's Swing

One-Line picked up Shapiro in his chair and carried him, grunting and kicking, out into the warehouse. Tying a couple of ropes to the chair, he threw them over an oak beam that spanned the high ground-floor room.  Hauling on the ropes, the lads lifted Shapiro up to the beam where he grunted, red-faced. One-Line secured the ropes to an iron ring in the wall.

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Sowerbutt's Search

Sowerbutt shouted. “All right lads, get searching.” One-Line tore off the wooden railing from the steps to the delivery room where Spano was busy throwing a typewriter, chairs and ledgers through the shattered windows. Shelving, ripped off the walls, followed. Jaksie, who had found a crowbar, was levering cedar panelling from the walls in Shapiro’s office. An expensive drinks cabinet lay on the floor in ruins, its contents carefully boxed by the door.

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Sowerbutt's Visit

“How dare you burst in here?” the tubby man shouted. “You fellow, stop that, I’ll call the police.” Spaghetti, who was rifling through the metal cabinet in the warehouse’s main office, ignored the request. Sowerbutt sat on the desk and pushed the telephone towards Shapiro. “Be my guest, call the stoppers. Looking forward to hearing you explain the restricted goods in your warehouse. That crate of shooters and the medical supplies are naughty.”

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Sowerbutt's Fight

“When we arrive at the Hospital Tavern to sort out the Reds, I want you, Harry, and the missus to look frightened and head for the kitchen. Lock yourselves in, it will be off-limits. I’ll be there to make sure everything goes smoothly," Sowerbutt said.

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Sowerbutt's Landing

One-Line grabbed the large docker with both hands and threw him onto the street. The docker aka rag-doll landed on the bitumen with a sickening crunch.

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Sowerbutt's Attack

The Austin Commercial van rammed the kerb and came to a halt outside the terraces in Bow. Vershinin leapt from the passenger seat and raced up the steps. Behind him, five thickset men followed from the back of the van. The driver kept the engine running.

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Sowerbutt's Secret

Pop nodded: “We are trusting you, Bernie. Remember dealing with the enemy in wartime is treason and that’s the firing squad at the Tower. You must not breathe a word of this to anyone.”

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Sowerbutt's Smugglers

Pop said: “Darby Sabini will get a message to your sister, Bernie, in Genoa by one of the neutral sailors, telling her what’s going on. Once she gets to Pozzallo, his Sicily lads will smuggle her and the bambino across. The Malta lads will get her a job and a Maltese passport and she can start learning English. They are evacuating civilians whenever they can, so the lads will get her on the top of the list."
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Sowerbutt's Deal

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. Her captain has brought some stuff to trade on the side. Pineapples, dried fruit, sacks of soy flour and tins of beef from some Yank company." “We’ll take the lot, negotiate a good price, Nero."

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Sowerbutt's Money

Bowing to the crowd who had begun jeering at the Kidds, Missionary out a ten-shilling note to two women. “Easy money, ladies. Strip them for me.” He nodded at a couple of street boys, who began piling up the clothes, ready to sell them to the second-hand shop further down Three Colt Street. 
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Sowerbutt's Fight

With drinkers from the Five Bells and Bladebone spilling out to watch the fun, the fighting was over in minutes; the Kidd brothers lying groaning on the pavement, battered, bruised and bloodied. “Leave them,” Missionary snapped as one of his men, his nose dripping blood, began kicking Billy Kidd.

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Sowerbutt's School

Polly stood open-mouthed; it was a side of Sowerbutt she had never seen before. Seconds earlier the room at the Boyd Institute in Canning Town had been bedlam. Forty or so boys pushing and fighting; a couple of dozen girls giggling, dancing and shouting. Within seconds of Sowerbutt and Spaghetti walking in, the children had taken their seats more or less quietly. “Respect,” said Bob Hawks, walking up behind the red-haired woman. 

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Sowerbutt's Coup

Brendan Bracken puffed his corona. “Confound Jerry, yes, but we can also worry our Cousins more, encourage them to part with a larger share of their bounty.” “Pray share your dastardly plans, Brendan,” Churchill growled. “A Blackshirt coup, Prime Minister. You in the Tower, the Empire handed over to Jerry on a plate, the Wehrmacht paddling across the Channel unmolested.”

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Sowerbutt's Cupboard

Churchill, dressed in a red velvet siren suit, stomped the Cabinet Room, a corona between his fingers. “Money, dear boy, money,” he exclaimed. “We need the riches of Croesus to win this war. Bucks, not bullets.  We suffer from Old Mother Hubbard’s misfortune, our cupboard is bare.”

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Sowerbutt's Seaside

“Not the old Clacton I knew years ago.  Like a ghost town with the shades wearing khaki. Soldier boys everywhere and hardly a civilian. And the poor old pier with a hole in the middle. The Kingsman family wouldn’t be happy – we’ve done business with them over the years,” Sowerbutt said.

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Sowerbutt's Hotel

As manager of Clacton’s premier hotel, Barry Nigg did not normally wait on tables in the lounge. 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. “Matter of national security, old boy. Something the Prime Minister himself is taking a personal interest in."

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Sowerbutt's Designer

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. I do declare, ladies, genius, simply genius. June, dear, you are the designer of your generation.”

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Sowerbutt's Luton

George, the chief clothes buyer at Marshall & Snelgrove, shook his ginger hair that took a lot of attention in the mornings. “How do you do it, Miss Polly? An oasis of delight in a grey world of war. Who would have thought Luton hid such pleasures?”

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Sowerbutt's Palace

“Well, I do declare, Miss Polly, this is perfect, a picture-perfect palace,” George, the chief clothes buyer at Marshall & Snelgrove, beamed as he looked around the warehouse. “A temple for turbans, a shrine to sequins, a residence for ribbons, a mecca for millinery."
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Sowerbutt's Watch

Spaghetti swung his pickaxe in the four-foot deep trench in one of the side-streets running east from West Ferry Road. He, Spano, one of his cousins, and Cocker had been there a couple of days, digging, filling in, watching and enjoying tea breaks in the corrugated shed that the Poplar Borough Council Bedford 3-tonner had dropped off. Two one-pound notes ensured silence from the elderly driver and his mate. Across the road in a Family’s terrace, One-Line and Panda kept watch behind the lace curtains. Spaghetti had chosen the site carefully. From the trench, they could watch the loading bay of Shapiro’s new warehouse.

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Sowerbutt's Friend

The Brigadier said: “In Clacton last year, a postal worker was jailed for defeatist talk; the magistrate made an example of her. After serving her time, she’s upped roots and is 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."

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Sowerbutt's Theory

The Brigadier said:“The notional Norwich group is centred around a man called Eric Pleasants. In fact, the group, who are all my people, are 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. We thought that staying on the Jerry-occupied island underlined his commitment."

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Sowerbutt's Bike

Sowerbutt remembered the last time he had watched the slight military man pedalling towards the Kelling farmhouse. No-one else witnessed the spectacle of the red-faced man twisting and turning the heavy ladies’ bike along the ridged farm track.
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Sowerbutt's Tobacco

“Tobacco, Percy?” Maud queried. “They grow it in hot countries, I saw it on the Pathe News at the flicks. Places in the Empire in Africa. Big fields and they dry it in the sunshine. Not like the weather here.” Percy said: “No, I’ve got it worked out, Maud. The butcher in Thurrock grew some plants last year in his greenhouse. Only a few, like, to spread out his supplies. And he dried the leaves in his shed. I’ve swapped him a rabbit for some seeds.”

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