Sowerbutt's Hut

The nondescript hut was the same as any of the others that housed the Royal Norfolks at Weybourne Camp. But it was strictly off-limits. Two conscripts from Cromer, who had been caught sitting on each other’s shoulders in turn and peering through the taped windows, were given a thrashing by the Regimental Police and seven days in the detention hut.

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Sowerbutt's Search

Sowerbutt said: “The birds have flown the coop. Search the place from top to bottom, every square inch. But keep it quiet, don’t want the neighbours to hear anything. These lads weren’t raising money for the fun of it. I want to know what they were up to.”

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Sowerbutt's Cosh

Sowerbutt said: “Ideally lads, we’ll cosh and rope them and bring the van round to take them to The River. Spaghetti and I will have shooters and you, Panda, bring your sawn-off. But last resort; attracts attention if we start pulling triggers. Don’t mind if there’s an air raid on."
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Sowerbutt's Stroll

Three men sauntered along the terrace-lined street that ran off Whitechapel Road. With the moon covered by smudges of cloud, the only light was from their torches covered by the regulation tissue paper and the occasional chink peeping through the black-out curtains. Their eyes flickered along the street in case an ARP patrol materialised out of the gloom. Few people ventured out at night with the blackout and the bombs; regulars in the pubs had long settled in.

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Sowerbutt's Highways

The attractive woman nodded: “Drop me a postcard from Cousin Joe when you arrive. We’ve been building highways in Missouri and it has been the devil’s own job to persuade the farmers to part with their land.” “Be delighted, ma’am,” Joe said. “My cousin and I will be looking for gainful employment when we arrive in Baltimore.”

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Sowerbutt's Plot

Harriet Warfield looked at the Irishman in his twenties, stretched out in the backroom of a Luton terrace. “My involvement must be kept absolutely confidential. How will you manage that with these men running around the farmyard unloading crates?” Joe did not blink an eyelid. “With the help of my trusty Tommy-gun, ma’am. There’ll be no loose ends left.”

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Sowerbutt's Ambush

“They’ve agreed to ambush the army convoy and deliver the goods to the farm. Our people will be dancing in the streets of Derry when news spreads about the English soldiers being shot,” Joe McCormack smiled. “Spare me your partisan details,” the attractive woman snapped. “The arrangement is that you hand over the crates and we’ll give you the $5,000 in greenbacks. A fast car will be waiting and I want to be on the London train before the plods wake up.”

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